


Divide and Conquer

by monochromatic



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Background Het, Drug Use, F/M, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Monogamy, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1541237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monochromatic/pseuds/monochromatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate universe in which thievery and bureaucracy have an awful lot to do with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The air was thick with drizzle – that hazy, gray mist that Skyrim was prone to. Audric tended his fire, kept it alive in spite of the rain. He could hardly enjoy it, however, as huddling for warmth was futile and he had only a few measly potatoes in the way of food. With some perseverance, he could probably have reached Ivarstead by a little after midnight, but the weather and the road had beaten most of the perseverance out of him. Instead, he settled for a nook in the mountains and prayed he wouldn’t waken waterlogged – that was, if he slept at all.

The wind howled through the crags, shrill and unforgiving. His time in Skyrim hadn’t hardened his bones against the cold, so he shivered, falling not so much into sleep as into despondency. He tossed and turned on the lumpy ground, half-dreaming in fits and starts of a warm hearth and spiced mead, of a bed and someone to share it with.

He did not wait for dawn to break before packing up and moving on. 

The rain persisted, following him into the foothills, a dark cloud chasing after him. Thunder rumbled from above outstretched fingers of birch trees and Audric cursed his dumb luck. The sky began to clear just as the little hamlet came into view. Typical. 

Though it would bore him half to death, if ever he were forced to stay, Audric loved the villages that dotted the province. Ivarstead in particular was a frequent haunt of his, given the company he often kept. And sure enough, Lynly was there to serve him a hot meal and a few sweet words when he arrived, soaked, inside the Vilemyr.

“Well hello stranger,” she smiled, “long time, no see.”

Frowning, he scoffed, “Oh, it’s only been – what – a few days? A week, at the most.”

“Try almost a month,” she admonished, hand firmly on her hip.

“No.” He apologized then; Audric had a horrible knack for losing track of time. He often got swept up in the places he visited and the people he met there. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”

“I’m certain you will.” With a wink, she left to tend to the other patrons. As delightful as a roll with Lynly always was, he wasn’t sure he was up to it after his trek. He hoped she would give him a day or two to recover before demanding her recompense.

 

 

 

 

 

Ten hours of good, hard sleep in a soft bed under a roof saw Audric feeling infinitely more himself. Sleepily, he wandered out into the hall, barefoot. The day was late and dusk filtered in through the high windows, gentle and pale. Sitting at the bar, he cracked his back and plied Wilhelm for news. Of course, there was almost never any big news to report, only small scraps of gossip or the local tragedies and victories alike – all small, all trivial. And that was precisely why Audric liked to ask. Since that fateful day at the chopping block, his life had been inundated with big news: harsh realities and victories so bittersweet, they doubled back into tragedies. He liked small news. It settled his stomach.

Over a steaming bowl of tomato soup, he was handed a wedding invitation. “Oh, that was sweet of Fastred. I love weddings.”

Wilhelm nearly choked. “That’s...weddings don’t seem the type of ceremony that suit you,” he tried politely. “In fact, ceremony in general doesn’t really suit you, my friend.”

Audric chuckled, patiently stirring his soup, waiting for it to cool some. “Perhaps not, but I like a good party, as long as I’m only a guest.”

“Never the guest of honor, then, eh?” The innkeeper teased, though his hopeful glances in the direction of his barmaid made Audric nervous.

“No, not really, not in my line of work.” The little bud of guilt that had blossomed in his stomach now unfurled in full bloom; so often had his line of work led him back here, pinching idle coin purses off of unattended tables, lifting valuables from unsecured chests. He tried not to think about it, and purchased another bottle of mead, though he hadn’t even finished his first.

“Just as well; an adventurer like you doesn’t get home very often, I suppose. Oh, and you have yet another piece of mail.”

This did come as a shock. Fastred’s invitation was one thing, given that she was in the area. But the idea that someone was leaving mail for Audric in Ivarstead was alarming on several counts, none the least of which was that it meant he was obviously spending too much time here. The parchment was thin and cheap, the message written in charcoal, but the penmanship could only be described as exquisite.

 

 

_Audric Bellamy,_

 

_I will keep this letter short. I am a man in grave need of your services, however I request that we meet in private. As I am in no position to entertain, I must humbly ask that you meet me in Kynesgrove, preferably at your earliest convenience. Please send word to the Braidwood Inn a day in advance; address your reply simply to ‘Cub.’ They will know to whom it must be delivered. I would appreciate your prompt and discreet cooperation._

 

_Sincerely,_

_A Hopeful, Interested Party_

 

 

“Awfully vague, that,” Audric observed, turning the letter over. For one thing, which of his services did this ‘hopeful, interested party’ desire? He was a versatile man, and could perform any number of tasks, menial or otherwise. He drew the line at assassination, but even that rule was subject to exemption, on rare occasions. But really, the thing that bothered him was the careful, expressive script; the articulate, elegant way in which this man strung his words together.

Well-educated, and well-spoken, if not entirely diplomatic.

 

 

 

 

 

A day went by. And then another. And when Audric misplaced a belonging, only to realize he had put it away, that startled him into movement. He packed and bid Lynly and Wilhelm goodbye. He would have liked to have visited Klimmek, but given the circumstances, he wasn’t sure that was a good idea, just yet. 

The road was unbroken, mostly. He ran into a pack of wolves, but those proved little challenge, and he left with a few filled soul gems to show for his trouble. He dithered, stooping to pick flowers and steal an egg from some unfortunate ground bird. It wasn’t long before a signpost rose out of the horizon, though, and Audric had a choice to make. Right, or straight ahead. He wasn’t ready to make it. 

A fox chased his heels, friendly; birds crowed in the trees, unseen specters of daytime. The sun beat down on his skin and he scolded himself for not bringing a hood; he hoped his hair would keep his neck from burning. When the day reached its peak, he sat down to some cheese and bread he’d pilfered from the inn. Hanging his legs over the edge of a high ridge, he tried to enjoy his meal, take in the scenery. The plains of Eastmarch lay before him, boiling and bubbling, steam rising from the earth in fine clouds. There was no dragon circling about, and Audric sort of missed the sound of air surrendering beneath wings; he wondered if it was against some ancient draconic protocol to take up residence in another’s lair.

A gaggle of Imperial soldiers made their way past, one miserable prisoner in tow. The men were obnoxious, inflated with their own sense of victorious self-importance, and it rubbed Audric the wrong way. He couldn’t afford to set the prisoner loose, but he waited for an opening, which did not take long at all. Feigning a spill, he stumbled into the man, brushing past him and whispered “Talos guide you,” and left him a small lump of coin in a pocket. The man’s eyes were startled and watery as Audric drew away, pardoning himself to the rear guard for his clumsiness.

He was not a religious man, and Talos certainly wasn’t his god, but comfort was few and far between for the losing side. At least this way, should the man find escape, he might have food to eat and a place to stay. And if he didn’t, well, hopefully the gold wouldn’t end up lining some Imperial coffer.

Audric had never chosen a side, officially. He detested the Empire for succumbing to terms that were plainly designed to keep it on a short leash, squabbling with itself, and he had no fondness for the Dominion. On the other hand, he’d met a number of Stormcloaks and supporters whose unrepentant bigotry left his stomach churning, and his temper hot. He claimed very little ancestral pride, deeming such sentiment irrational, but speaking with a decent number of Nords, he had to grudgingly admit he felt a renewed, somewhat horrifying sense of blood-pride. A natural reflex to discrimination, he tried to console himself.

When again, he was faced with a fork in the road, he stopped and worried. The letter had asked that he send a reply a day in advance. He could go home and sleep in his own bed and eat his own food. Iona was probably starting to fret. But that old friend, curiosity, was nagging at him, tugging him away down the road into the pit of the valley, past the herds of mammoths and through the steamy fog and up, around the corner...

He slept in his own bed about as much as he slept in rented ones, he rationalized, and continued north, into the evening.

The night was clear, the air crisp; the smell of impending snowfall was on the wind. Audric grumbled under his breath as he opened the door to the inn. That there existed a place where the cold persisted even into the height of summer seemed a kind of blasphemy to him – one of Skyrim’s many curses besides the dragons. 

There was refuge inside, however, as always. The fire crackled jovially and the incessant babble wasn’t so bad, either. The savory scent of a pheasant roast wafted overhead and his mouth watered a little. Taking a seat at the bar, he tucked into some warm food and contemplated his next move. He had come unannounced, and only now that he’d arrived was he realizing the problems this presented him with. He ate and drank and turned a few different solutions over in his head.

His prospective client had referred to himself as Cub – a pseudonym, presumably. Well, he decided, usually the best way to get what you want is to ask.

“Excuse me,” he waved the innkeeper over, “I’m looking for a man who calls himself ‘Cub.’ Is he renting here, by chance?”

The woman’s face flashed in horror for a split second before she forced a warm smile. “Ah yes, let me see if he’s up to company.” Before he could inform her that they were supposed to meet, she took off into one of the rooms – without even knocking! – as if fire trailed her heels. When she returned, she looked tense. 

Audric’s intuition was screaming at him to leave, but he dismissed it as paranoia. 

“He’ll see you. Come along.”

“He won’t come have a drink at the bar?”

“I’m afraid not.” 

Audric couldn’t help but notice her eyes, darting frantically to a corner where some Imperial officers were having a good, hearty laugh over their tankards.

He followed her into the room, and was surprised to find it dark, empty. He was even more surprised upon being knocked to the ground, the ominous click of a lock registering in his ears amongst the sound of scuffling and rattling. Not for the first time, his wrists were in irons and he was being hauled up onto his feet in a hard grip.

“This is him,” the innkeeper whispered, hysterical, “the man who is looking for the Jarl!”

“Wait just a minute –!” 

Two burly men in Stormcloak colors towered over him. “I don’t know how you got word of his location, but you’ll meet him alright. And he’s going to decide just what to do with you.”

“Probably Shout him to bits; put him in the ground.”

"He can't Shout here, you idiot, the whole place would come down around us!”

The men dragged him towards a tall wardrobe, and for a moment, Audric was terrified that they were going to stuff him in it and just wait for him to suffocate, but the back of it slid to one side, revealing a steep, concealed stairwell. They proceeded to march him down the steps, into the dim light below.

The room was spacious, bathed in lantern light. Audric could see his breath. 

“And what do we have here?” asked a terribly familiar voice. He’d only heard it a handful of times, but it would be impossible to forget. 

“This is the scout, my Jarl,” said one of the guards, shoving him forward as if for inspection.

Eyes lit with amusement, Ulfric Stormcloak looked as if he were trying to bite back a grin. “This is no scout, Imperial or otherwise, I assure you.” Addressing Audric specifically, he added, “I told you to send advanced notice.”

“It was a last-minute decision to even show up,” he countered. His wrists were beginning to ache. “Had I known this was your convention for receiving company, I’d have thought better of it.”

Waving off Audric’s snide comments, he had the guards release him and instructed them to return to their posts. The men seemed reluctant to leave their beloved leader alone with a strange man in what constituted a basement larder, but loyal to a fault, they followed orders.

Audric stood, massaging his wrists and complaining about the cold. “So,” he began, “why all the mystery?”

“I couldn’t write you in earnest,” Ulfric pointed out as though it were obvious. “What if the courier were intercepted?”

Audric raised an eyebrow. “I don’t imagine you’d trust that note with a mere courier. A guard in disguise, perhaps.”

“True, but there are all sorts of eyes that might have seen it who shouldn’t.” 

Oddly, Audric felt compelled to defend Wilhelm from the hypothetical slander of being a snoop. “Regardless, I’m here. Now, what do you want?” If he was snappish, he hardly thought he was out of turn.

“As stated, I am requesting your services, Dragonborn.”

Audric groaned. “No.”

“You haven’t even heard my proposal –”

“As if I don’t already have more on my plate than I can handle. Besides, the war is over.”

“With no help from you, I’d note,” he observed, resentfully.

“It was never my war. I’m not of Skyrim and I’d much rather see the Dominion turned on its head than this dwindling excuse of an Empire.” His voice was rising, and he knew he had to try and reign himself in, lest this meeting of minds devolve into a meeting of Thu’um. “Listen, I’m about as thrilled as you are about the whole situation, but did you really expect me to get behind your cause?”

“Why not?” Ulfric asked, as if it were some question of philosophy and not phylogeny. 

“I think you know why not.”

“I could excuse your blood, if your heart were in the right place.”

Speaking of Audric’s blood, it was starting to boil. “That you honestly believe there is nothing wrong with that sentence is exactly why I couldn’t. I’m not Mer,” he snarled. “Moreover, I’d need more hands than I’ve been given to count how many elves I’ve encountered who, if not for your arrant disregard for them as a whole, would have gladly taken up arms for your cause.” After a moment of irritable silence, he accused, “You took up arms against the wrong faction.”

“Do not” Ulfric growled, “pretend to possess either the wisdom or the experience to pass judgment on my decisions as a leader.”

“I wasn’t,” he scoffed. “I was passing judgment on your decisions as a man.” Ulfric got to his feet, hand going to the hilt of his sword, but Audric was faster. “Wait. Before you decide to engage me out of spite, let’s review.” His casual tone gave Ulfric pause. “You incapacitated Torygg with a Shout before running him through with your sword, correct?”

“Make your point, quickly.”

Looking into steely eyes, Audric chose his words carefully. “I won’t need the sword.”

Somewhat startled, reminded of whom he stood before, Ulfric sat back down. 

“The time for great war has passed, if ever such a time existed. You and I both know the Empire is little more than a crippled bird, eating from Thalmor hands.”

“You do have a way with words,” Ulfric complemented. “You’d have made quite the politician.”

Audric shrugged. “I don’t have the stomach for it. At any rate, if you’re open to discussion, my services might be of some use to you, yet.”

“And by ‘discussion,’ you mean ‘negotiation.’”

“It’s all the same to me.” 

Ulfric had him fetch some food and drink from upstairs while he thought it over. Audric took his sweet time and ordered the cheapest available dish. The innkeeper shot him sour, suspicious glances the entire time. While he waited, he wondered what he was still doing here. Procrastinating was as likely an answer as any; he couldn’t say he was chomping at the bit to get into the Embassy, and this entire business of dragons was nothing but an ulcer, as far as he was concerned. He had entered Skyrim with every intention pointed toward Riften, before being promptly redirected.

When he returned with the meal, Ulfric bade him to sit, and so together they ate. The silence wasn’t entirely comfortable, though it was preferable to the raised tempers of before. 

“You’ve awfully nice table manners, for a thief,” Ulfric offered, and it took Audric a moment to realize he was being funny.

“And you have awfully nice table manners for a king,” he returned, smiling sweetly. “So I suppose that if you went to the trouble of trying to recruit me, the deposed life isn’t treating you very well. Do tell how you managed to escape the axe a second time.”

“It’s a good tale, though hardly polite dinner conversation.” 

“There’s more appeal in impolite conversation, personally.” He relished the small choking noise that escaped over the lip of Ulfric’s tankard. Catching the discomfort on his face, though, he amended, “Another time, perhaps.”

When there was nothing left but crumbs and the last drops had been drained from their mugs, it was time to face the facts. Here were two men, both headstrong and fiercely loyal to their respective codes of honor – as disparate from one another as could be – and each was caught in the snare of the other. 

“I believe,” said Ulfric slowly, “you’ve plied me with mead to leave me vulnerable to your negotiations.”

“Drat,” Audric grinned, “you’ve caught me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An answer to [this prompt](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?thread=5140614) over on the kink meme. I am not going to include it in Audric's canon because it does not fit, but it's a fun sandbox to play in and that's all that really matters.


	2. Chapter 2

Ulfric had refused to leave behind his horse and Audric refused to shill out the coin for one, so the pair traveled in lopsided tandem, with Audric trotting beside beast and man under the hot sun. Sweat trickled down his back in creeks beneath his armor and his breath was coming in winded little puffs, but the only thing he could imagine worse than buying a steed was climbing up behind Ulfric on his. 

“I admit, something has been nagging at me all this time.”

“Oh, let’s hear it.”

Unwilling to dignify sarcasm, Ulfric explained, “Several months ago, you paid your last visit to the Palace of the Kings.”

Chuckling, genuinely amused by his own daring escape – which had involved a crossbow that never worked quite right again – he wondered which of his bones the man would attempt to pick. “Indeed. I have to say, the only thing more impressive than your welcoming committee at the inn was the farewell party that saw me off through the window.”

Clearly, Ulfric’s memory of the incident wasn’t as fond. “You took something from me that night.”

Silently counting on his fingers, Audric tried to take stock of the valuables he’d made off with. “I took a lot of things from you that night,” he concluded. He didn’t much care for the look Ulfric shot him, but he was an asset to this wanted man. He took comfort in that his value exceeded his cheek.

“It was a necklace. Silver, set with sapphires.”

“I’ve stolen several of those; you’ll have to give me more to go on.”

“There are no stones in all of Skyrim cut like these sapphires,” Ulfric mused, and Audric feared he was straying into the poetic. “There was also an ivory inlay.”

“Oh, yes, I remember.” 

Frowning, Ulfric asked, “I don’t suppose this item is still in your possession?” The accusation was clear, even if it was implicit. _You sold my heirloom, didn’t you, dirty thief!_ It was an accusation he’d heard time and again, and more often than not, it was true.

“As it happens, I do still have it. I couldn’t bear to part with it – I have a weakness for sapphires,” he grinned. “Although, if you still want it back, you should know I made a few...er...alterations.”

“ _Such as_?”

Before Ulfric had a chance to lose his temper, the air around them shook with a horrible, ear-splitting sound, like the fabric of the sky was being torn in two. Audric drew his sword, strengthening his resolve. 

The dragon sailed low overhead, its shadow engulfing the entire clearing. 

Audric ran headlong for the immense creature as it flapped and clambered over itself. It had landed badly and in cramped quarters, thankfully creating some leeway for him to work. Compounding a Shout inside his throat, he held it, releasing only once they were nearly nose-to-nose. The heat as it ignited between them was searing and he had to turn away to avoid the very fate he intended to inflict upon the dragon. Sure enough, it reared backward and tottered dangerously on the steep incline, as Audric’s fire had blinded it. 

Out of nowhere, Ulfric came colliding in from the other side, driving his own blade into the tender, exposed flesh where wing met torso. This was hardly a decisive blow, however, only goading the dragon into a fury. It reeled around, bellowing itself hoarse, its tail crashing into the earth like a rudder crunching against rock. 

“Fall back!” Audric hollered. “Get out of here!” Too often, he rose victorious, only to discover the remains of those foolish enough to try and assist him. He could do this alone, and he did not want the blood of Ulfric Stormcloak on his hands. No answer came, though, and he had no time to waste trying to persuade a stubborn Nord. In a fit of foolish tenacity – likely spurred by fear – he propelled himself forward and up, vaulting the dragon’s spindly hindquarters and jabbing his sword through its skull. Stupidly, he hadn’t considered a plan of escape and went hurtling through the air when the poor creature went careening, writhing in pain.

After that, it got patchy. His vision blurred and sounds stopped making sense. Time slowed. There was a splitting pain in his shoulder and a dull throb in his back. He was conscious enough to feel the excruciating intrusiveness and unwelcome warmth of the dragon’s soul as it seeped in from the outside. It was always too many things at once: several mortal lifetimes of knowledge, of experiences he could not reconcile. But more than that, private moments, upsets and conquests and small hours treasured for centuries. These were memories that did not belong to him, yet he swallowed them down, unable to reject any of it. He endured, waiting for consciousness to grip him more firmly.

When it did, he was muttering to himself. 

Spots swam in his vision. The sun was in relatively the same place, so he’d probably only been out for a few minutes. The pain in his shoulder was sharp and demanded attention, but he couldn’t get himself situated to respond. He cried out to Ulfric several times, but the only answer was his own voice echoing off the surrounding cliff faces, dissipating in the pine needles. 

For a time, he struggled to free himself from his armor so he could tend to the wound underneath, but unable to move his injured arm, he worked in vain. And when pain and sweat blinded him, he gave up and groaned loudly, hopeless.

Eventually though, Ulfric turned up. He was leading his horse back to the road, carefully guiding the frightened thing. The two men played a pathetic game of call and seek, like desperate children, until one finally stumbled upon the other. Ulfric appeared no worse for wear, Audric noticed with envy. 

“That was a valiant performance, back there.” Stooping in the shade, Ulfric inspected the damage to his companion. 

“And I’m afraid,” he bit out, “there won’t be an encore with the shape I’m in. Please...” he paused, for breath and because it humiliated him to ask, “please, can you help me out of this?” With his good arm, he gestured at his armored shirt. 

Quietly, Ulfric worked to find the catches; it was difficult, as they had been darkened. When all the straps had been loosened and the leather was peeled away, even battle-scarred Ulfric averted his eyes. 

“Does it feel as bad as it looks?” he asked the ground.

“Worse, I’d wager.” Clenching his teeth, Audric tried to summon the energy to heal himself, but came up short. He’d been careless to leap in without any contingencies and now he would pay for his mistake, unless he could shirk just a bit more of his pride. “My rucksack...it should still be up the road a ways.”

Without hesitation, Ulfric retrieved it. He took instruction well, lending his aid efficiently and without qualm, despite Audric’s pained agitation. If he lorded it over him later, so be it; for the moment, Audric’s largest concern was mending himself before his window of opportunity closed. He guzzled a few nasty-tasting potions to give himself a boost, and wretched half of it back up with the toll it took on his body to heal. The sickening sound of bone growing over itself and the smell of burning flesh did little to help the situation.

Ulfric, for his part, remained oddly absent throughout the entire ordeal.

Unwilling to expend the energy, Audric didn’t bother with the bruising, satisfied with the fact that his bones were – mostly – back where they belonged. He could deal with the petty lacerations later, after he’d had a hot meal and some good sleep. Clinging to the last vestiges of his ego, he chose a nearby tree branch to help him back onto his feet, rather than the hesitantly outstretched hand. 

They argued the whole way up the hill about who should ride the horse. Grudgingly, Audric eventually submitted when he couldn’t even find the breath to put his armor back on and let Ulfric lead them. He sagged forward and fell in and out of sleep; the horse didn’t seem to mind.

“Wake up, would you.” 

Audric started and the horse complained. “Wha –? Where ‘m I?” He smacked his lips together, tasting the sleep in his mouth.

“We’re coming up on a fort, and you’re in poor form to conduct the stunt we devised.” Pushing the armor back into his arms, he whispered, “Dress yourself, before we’re spotted.”

In all fairness, he did try, but he was still sore and tired and couldn’t be bothered to force his muscles to work correctly, so lazily, he folded it into the rucksack. “They know me,” he yawned, nodding at the imposing stone silhouette up ahead. 

This information did not appear to allay Ulfric in the least.

The plan went without a hitch. Well, mostly. Ulfric took an invisibility philter – a decision the two had squabbled over for an entire hour because it disagreed with his Nord sensibilities – and silently shadowed Audric and the Horse as they moved through the fort.

The men teased from safely up in the shadows of the battlements, a few low whistles and the usual obscene commentary, but Audric took it in stride, provoked them, even. “Evening, gents!” he called out cheerfully. “Lovely weather we’re having!”

“A bit late in the day to be sunning, isn’t it, friend?” Hadvar halted them, looking embarrassed on Audric’s behalf, since Audric was almost never embarrassed himself. “Pay up; you know the rules.”

“Aw, come on.” Making sweet eyes at him, he hoped he could fluster Hadvar into letting them pass; he was counting the seconds, after all. “I don’t even have my coin on me. Let me come on down tomorrow afternoon and I’ll pay up – with interest.” He grinned, and it was a mean trick, but it worked: red in the face, his friend stepped down, in no mood to deal with his antics.

The Legionaires continued to joke, now at Hadvar’s expense, but Audric saluted them as he exited the fortress. “As you were, men.”

Cresting the hill and coming round the bend, Ulfric reappeared beside him. “Is that how you negotiate all of your deals?” he asked, reserved.

“Why?” Audric smirked. “Do you feel cheated?”

“Hardly.” 

Overestimating his strength, Audric dismounted and winced as he hit the ground, the impact radiating up his spine and into the tender parts of his back. Stretching until something cracked, he explained, “Hadvar is sort of a friend. I wouldn’t actually...” he wouldn’t what? Sleep with a friend? That was a load of shit, if ever he’d heard one. “He’s not my type,” Audric shrugged, at a loss for a more polite phrase. 

“I see.”

Audric forced Ulfric to wait outside while he persuaded his housecarl to take some time off. To his credit, he got a good laugh out of eavesdropping while Audric tried and failed to convince Iona that, no, he wasn’t entertaining that kind of company. No, ‘indefinitely’ did not mean she would be reserving her seat at the temple any time soon. 

“Whatever you say, my Thane,” she chuckled, and then there was only an exasperated sigh.

Audric opened the door and ushered his guest inside. He dared to think that Ulfric actually looked amused, and it only irritated him further. “Well, home sweet home.”

“It’s quite nice,” Ulfric observed, appraising the interior, the haphazard decor. His eyes lingered on the elegant sword mounted above the bed.

“You sound surprised.”

Eschewing pretense, he answered, “I am. I wasn’t expecting anything so well-kept. And Thane, is it?”

Shrugging, suddenly uncomfortable, Audric mumbled, “It’s really only a title. I’ve hardly earned it.”

Helping himself to a seat at the kitchen table, Ulfric stared inscrutably at him in the dim, flickering firelight. “That dragon would likely have made its way up here today,” he said. “That meager Imperial detail wouldn’t have stood a chance, even with the town guard to back them up.”

“ _Especially_ with the town guard,” Audric grumbled.

Ulfric smiled. “I’m confident that there aren’t many Thanes in Skyrim who would be willing to take on that beast the way you did.”

Something bubbled up from an unknown pit inside of him then, and it got out before he could get control of it. “Vitjunal”

“Pardon?”

“His name was Vitjunal, and I slaughtered him.”

“He would have slaughtered us, and then perhaps the entire town.” When Audric remained unconvinced, Ulfric gently added, “As I understand it, dragons are driven by a fierce need to dominate. You, Dragonborn, acted on that need against an equal.”

For a while, there was nothing to be said, and only the popping of kindling and a chorus of crickets buffeted them against the threat of awkward silence. But Audric wasn’t going to let this man have the last word; it wasn’t in his nature to be bested.

“It may look deserving of the title, to slay a dragon. But then again, the other Thanes are not Dragonborn.”

“Perhaps.”

Audric went to bed that evening bristling with the suspicion that Ulfric had let him win the debate, and had managed the last word, besides. 

 

*      *      *

 

Audric woke to the sound of his front door being pounded down. His ears were ringing and there was a nasty pang in his shoulder to greet him, and he remembered the day before in flashes. Groaning, he hauled himself out of bed and pulled on some dirty clothes before slinking across the way. Jerking the door open, he squinted into the bright sunshine, trying to make out who the burly silhouette in front of him was. “Yeah?”

_That laugh_. “I’ve finally caught you at home, then.”

“You’ve got some nerve, calling on a man at this hour.” 

“It’s three in the afternoon.” Brynjolf's face came into focus, grinning. Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed Audric aside and let himself in; they were long past that brand of decorum. 

Suddenly, Audric was conscious of the fact that he was harboring the most wanted fugitive in all of Skyrim in his basement – a fugitive, no less, wanted by the very faction the Guild was tied to, however indirectly. If Maven got wind of this, Ulfric and Audric would likely end up right back where they had started.

Totally oblivious, Brynjolf made himself at home, dumping a leather-bound register on the table. “You’ve got these to look over,” he gestured at the book, “and, at some point, Delvin would like a word with you.”

“But I only just got back!” Audric protested, slumping forward.

“Aye, but I never know when you’ll run out the door again,” Brynjolf sighed. “Could be a week from now, could be two – could be tonight. You’re a difficult man to catch, Bellamy,” he smirked. “But, I figured you could crunch numbers later. We have catching up to do.”

“Right. I, uh...” Audric stalled, but he was still half-asleep and couldn’t form a coherent excuse.

“Unless perhaps you’d like to break off the arrangement?”

“No. I just –”

“Ah, well like you said, you just got home.” But he was standing, looking disappointed, even.

“Bryn, no, I want...to catch up. I really, really want to, just...not here.” He squirmed, unable to drum up an explanation without letting the cat out of the bag. He was trying to find a way around it without lying. 

Laughing, he cocked his head. “Not here? Why not? Has my invitation been rescinded?”

Audric wanted badly to lay down on the floor and sob with frustration. He could not lie to Brynjolf, and neither could he tell him the truth, and more maddening was that the limits where business ended and friendship began were too blurred for comfort. They were Nightingales; they were Guildmaster and Right Hand; they were friends.

“You’re welcome here, always,” Audric sighed. “It’s only, right now, indefinitely, I...I’m helping a –” What, a friend? No. “I’m helping someone. He’s gotten himself into some trouble, and I’m letting him stay with me.”

“Indefinitely?” Brynjolf’s eyebrows shot up. “Who is this man?”

“It’s probably better if you don’t know,” he tried gently. Brynjolf nodded, sympathetic. “Look, let me just, sort out some things, take a bath. I’ll meet you in an hour or two at the manor and we can catch up there.”

Brynjolf groused and turned away. “You know how I hate using that place.”

“You’ve never told me why, only that you won’t –”

“Can’t,” he contended. “Don’t pry into my business and I won’t pry into yours.”

After a moment of silence, Audric said, “Well then.”

“Sorry. But you remember, what happened the last time...”

“Alright, how about a compromise; rent a room at the inn?” It was the only viable option left, as there was no chance either of them would take this to the Cistern. Not that it was any kind of secret, but that was hardly the point.

“If I say no, will you pull rank on me?” he grinned.

“I’ll pull something, and you’ve got three guesses what.”

The two of them had a good laugh and agreed: at the Bee and Barb, over a drink and then later, in private, the two men would, in a phrase, catch up.

After Brynjolf departed, Audric waited a while and then locked the door. He scribbled a note for Ulfric, that he would be back, help himself, keep the fire down, et cetera, and left it in plain sight. He then grabbed his satchel and stuffed it with a towel, clean clothes, and his soap tin, and headed out the back door.

 

 

 

 

 

Arriving home in the dead of night, Audric was on the last leg of inebriation, and quite satisfied. He felt warm, content. Brynjolf had given him the third degree once he’d seen the enormous bruise that had blossomed over his shoulder, and then teased him for being a reckless youth. After, he’d been aggravatingly gentle, although in retrospect, that was probably for the best.

The register had been moved out of the way, but not investigated; the fire was dead, only a few embers smoldering amongst the shifted ash. A pile of dishes lay in the bucket; they were apparently clean. 

Ulfric Stormcloak had done his dishes. 

Audric was overcome with laughter, bent double and clutching his sides until he was sore. He stayed like that, hunched over, while he regained his breath. 

It was late, but he decided to check on his guest anyway, perhaps thank him for the menial labor. The spare room doors were closed. He knocked – once, twice. Three times, sharply, in quick succession. He opened the doors, and the warm contentedness fell out the bottom of his stomach, giving way to cold panic. 

The bed was empty.

Senselessly, Audric paced around the basement, then around the upstairs, hysterical, imagining every terrible scenario. What if he kept the fire too bright? What if he hadn’t drawn the curtains? What if some passing guard had seen through a window? What if Iona had come home and discovered him? Would she report him or...? One question after the other bombarded him until he felt nauseated. He needed air, and badly.

Throwing open the back door, he collapsed over the railing and was nearly sick.

“Good evening.”

Audric wheeled around, startled. He half expected Ulfric to be in irons, bracketed by guards there to interrogate him. But as it happened, he was sitting at the table with an open book and a bottle of wine.

“Gods above,” he growled, “I thought – I thought –!”

“I wouldn’t be so careless,” he scolded. And indeed, he hadn’t forsaken caution, even on the sheltered porch; a dark, hooded cloak shaded his face almost entirely from view, the light casting his features in hard contrast. “I’m a veteran refugee, remember?” When Audric did not answer, stock still and white as a sheet, Ulfric beckoned him to the table. “Come. I can’t possibly finish this wine by myself.”

Audric sagged into the seat across from him and grabbed the wine, pulling straight from the bottle. Ulfric looked on in mild disgust, but made no mention of it. Rather, he returned to his book. 

The night wore on, as did the wine. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked and the sound of boats creaking beside the docks swaddled them both. A bird fluttered overhead, crying out. Over the water, Audric could see thousands of tiny lights where torchbugs gathered. 

“You can’t be bothered to ask me about my evening, then,” he observed icily.

Ulfric peered at him over the top of the book. “Your personal affairs are none of my business.” His hand hovered at the neck of the bottle, indecisive; ultimately, he poured himself another cup.

“I met a friend for a drink; it was grand.”

Ulfric set the book down in his lap. “A drink,” he said, skeptically, “for six hours.”

Beaming and flushed, Audric asked, “Were you counting?”

“Hm.” Returning to the book, he hid beneath the shadow of his hood, but it wasn’t enough to conceal his shrewd smirk. “Like I said,” he turned the page, “it’s none of my business.”

Audric sighed and laid his head on his arms. “I suppose you eavesdropped on my discussion this afternoon, then?”

The man looked genuinely hurt at the accusation. “It was difficult not to. Your companion has quite the voice on him.” Now, he was just being antagonistic. 

“He’s not my...” Audric paused, rethinking his words. “He’s a colleague; a friend.”

Finally, Ulfric closed the book and put it aside. He gazed at Audric over the table as if puzzled, as if a riddle sat before him instead of a man. His mouth twitched; shaking his head, he murmured, “None of my business,” before standing up and collecting the book, leaving Audric with the wine and dwindling lantern light.

The following morning, Audric set about tending to his contusions in fits and starts, and it took the better part of the day. Around noon, Ulfric – who apparently was in the habit of waking at daybreak – surfaced from downstairs, probably sick of books and restless from inaction. 

“How is it coming?” he asked benignly, nodding at the significantly shrunken bruise. 

“As well as it can,” Audric griped. He tried not to be snippy, but his novice spellwork was a spot almost as sore as his injury. 

It became painfully obvious that Ulfric was totally ignorant of this though. “I was impressed, the other day; your skill with a blade is admirable.” 

“Um, thank you.”

Unaccustomed to trapping himself in small talk, he backpedaled. “It’s only, I would have expected you to rely more heavily on your natural affinities.” 

Oh. Audric’s mouth twisted into a sour expression and he grew petulant. He had to stop what he was doing, put his hand down, lest he accidentally lose control and burn himself. It took nearly every fiber of his concentration just to cast elementary spells and he couldn’t focus in the state he was in now. “Arguably, my natural affinity is with a blade.”

Ulfric looked perplexed. “I apologize if I’ve offended.”

The words felt empty, though, and went unappreciated. Running a hand through his hair, Audric tried again to calm down. “Destruction magic’s just about all I’m good for, and even that tends to be...volatile at best. My ability is, to put it politely,” he grimaced, “raw.” 

Ulfric made no comment, but he didn’t up and leave, either. 

“I’m a decent bladesman and an accomplished archer. I’m self-serving, pragmatic. I hope, when you decided to align your fate with me, you didn’t go into it anticipating any lineal talents.”

“I did not,” he answered promptly. “I sought you out because you are Dragonborn, and because you’ve begun to garner something of a reputation.”

Audric’s eyes widened. “A repu...” he snorted. _For all the wrong reasons, I’m sure._ But, he kept that thought to himself. “I hail from Wayrest,” he said quietly. “My four siblings excel at the arcane.” He did not know why he was professing any of this, unless it was just because he wanted to tell someone. “Every scar on my body is a reminder of my incompetence.”

The lines in Ulfric’s face deepened. It looked as though he wanted to do something, but was at a loss for what. “I’d argue the word ‘incompetence.’ You possess an intrinsic aptitude for the Thu’um – an ability I can certainly appreciate.”

“Oh yes,” Audric laughed, “a knack for the Nord art, wouldn’t my father be in stitches.” His eyes were wet with mirth, and he hoped Ulfric would not mistake it for sorrow. 

“You undervalue yourself; you should consider dismissing others’ opinions.”

A crooked smile split Audric’s fine face as he leaned in, conspiratorially. “And pray tell,” he murmured, “does that also include your opinions?”

Huffing, Ulfric stood. “You are impossible.”

Tipping back in his chair, pouring himself a drink, he shrugged. “We should start embellishing the frame of our initial plans.” 

“Agreed.”

Instead, they sat together and polished off the last bottle of wine in the house. 


	3. Chapter 3

Ulfric watched, quiet, from the doorway. Audric was right where he’d been over an hour ago: inert and hunched over the register on his kitchen table. It looked as though he hadn’t moved at all, not even to relieve an itch. He murmured to himself from behind his curtain of hair, scratching with a quill at scrap parchment before making marks in the book.

“It’s awfully late,” Ulfric spoke softly, so as not to startle him.

“Mm.” He barely responded, immersed in his numbers.

Audric was young and striking, and charming, when need be. More than any of those things, he was competent. So it seemed to Ulfric a terrible and ironic misfortune that instead of working a living, he was cooped up near to midnight tallying numbers. Men his age should be celebrating the ends of apprenticeships, he lamented, or out courting – not leading scoundrels and slaying dragons. Of course, when Ulfric had been that age, he had been in the middle of bloody war. But he tended to regard his own circumstances as uncommon. 

“You really ought to sleep,” he insisted.

Audric’s smile was feeble, but sincere. “Are you endeavoring to get me into bed?”

Ulfric was tired. He was tired and there was a part of him – a part that didn’t see much daylight – that wanted desperately to humor the predictable punchline, counter it with one of his own, even. But that was not his place. 

“You have a long day ahead of you, tomorrow,” he ignored the bait. “And the last thing I’d want, Dragonborn, is for you to be caught off guard – particularly in Solitude, of all places.” When no smart remark was forthcoming, he added, “And still, you refuse to enlighten me as to the nature of this trip.” He wanted to show his irritation, but years upon years of social convention still bound him in proverbial chains.

Audric tipped his head back and sighed. His usual cheer fell away like an old, tattered rag and he looked older. Not so old as Ulfric, but, more weary man than audacious youth. “I need to cut my hair,” he announced to the ceiling. “Before I leave in the morning, I need to cut my hair, and check and recheck my pack. And I need to make sure I get these figures back to Bryn.” Rubbing his cheek, he went on, “You and I cannot move forward until this errand is carried out. And because of the location, I must go alone.”

“I’d gathered that much for myself.”

Sniffing, Audric folded his arms behind his head. “Please, be patient with me. You are hardly the only person in all of Skyrim nipping at my heels. Moreover – and this may come as a shock – you are hardly the most important. This civil war I’d stumbled upon? Small fish in a much, much larger pond.”

“You refer to the dragons.”

“Yes.” Sitting upright again, he imparted Ulfric with a hard stare. His eyes were the color of spruce needles. “I want very little to do with either the dragons or the politics, but the dragons might be the end of this world.”

“One could argue the same for politics,” Ulfric smirked. It was...nice, to be afforded a keen exchange of words. He was so used to words being practical; with Audric, he could take some pleasure in them.

Audric looked away, like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. “I hate when you do that,” he smiled grimly. “When you’re clever. I didn’t expect you to be clever.”

Ulfric crossed his arms. “I only orchestrated an entire rebellion –”

“A failed rebellion, remember?” Audric reminded him unkindly. “But anyway, that isn’t what I meant, about being clever. I knew you were smart – had to be, given the nature of things. It’s only that sometimes...” and now he was dithering, like a criminal on the verge of confession. “Sometimes, you’re human,” he shrugged, “and it catches me by surprise.”

Jokingly, Ulfric asked, “If you cut us, do we not bleed...?”

“Oh,” he scoffed, “that’s rich, coming from you.”

He actually felt guilty, but swept the feeling to the side where he could ignore it in peace. “Get some sleep, I’ll finish that for you,” he nodded at the ledger. 

“Why, so you can screw it up?” Audric accused. “I didn’t fall off the cart yesterday; I know that you know what I’m doing, and I know that you don’t like it.”

It was true, that he disapproved of Audric’s profession. But to be cast under suspicion of forging – and by a genuine thief, no less – was more than he could stand. “I doubt you were aware, but I’ve spent most of life overlooking the smaller misdeeds of others – I think I can survive another instance.” He spoke with a smile, with the ease of the unconcerned. 

Audric huffed and pushed the book across the table. “If you scratch those numbers, I’ll make sure to mention your name in Solitude.” That seemed disproportionate, but then, it was often difficult to follow the line of his humor, to know where it diverged from sincere threat. “And by the way,” he called, not bothering to take cover while stripping for bed. “My pedigree is considerably bourgeois.”

“Your pedigree,” Ulfric chuckled, fixing an error in Audric’s work. 

Encroaching on him from the side, brown leather pants undone, Audric still managed to look intimidating, even bare-chested and short as he was. “The name ‘Bellamy’ carries a decent weight in High Rock.”

Unflinching, though not altogether unbothered by the display, Ulfric stared back at him. “And tell me, Master Bellamy, exactly how much of that weight did you pull?”

Grumbling under his breath, Audric turned on his heel and stomped into bed. Ulfric enjoyed his amusement in benevolent silence.

 

 

 

 

 

Audric was gone before sunrise. The house was still and silent; suddenly, Ulfric felt as though he were trespassing. As he served himself breakfast, he made an effort to avoid the loose floorboards, in spite of being the sole occupant. From the table, he could see Audric’s bed, still unmade, the sheets thrown to one side. 

This day, as most of them had, passed at a snail’s pace. Unable to wander even the derelict streets of Riften, he felt trapped, more so than when he’d spent his days confined to the hills of Kynesgrove, to the cellar of the Braidwood. 

_I’ve spent a great deal of time in cellars, it seems_ , he thought snidely. It irked him that he, a man well into his life, was spending his days pent up while that young, arrogant Breton was traipsing around the country as if it were his backyard. Of course, he knew logically that Audric was on business, and from the look of the armor he’d pulled the night before, it was likely some dangerous business. Still, a twist of envy had yanked itself into a snarl in Ulfric’s stomach. 

There was a plan. A loose plan. In fact, having been instructed in the stringent art of strategy, Ulfric could only vaguely refer to it as a plan without feeling a certain sense of shame. But he was cornered and this was his last resort. He wondered, idly, how many citizens of Skyrim had met Audric Bellamy, had discovered he was Dragonborn and despaired. The boy was hardly fit for tales of heroism, all around.

Flashes of Audric scaling that dragon on the hill, lodging his blade clean through its skull came to mind and Ulfric felt sorry for dismissing him. He was brave. He was clever and capable. But he lacked honor, and this conflicted violently with Ulfric’s own sense of heroism. There was some deep, skin-curling remorse in championing a man who lacked honor so severely. Not that Ulfric had never found trouble, as a boy. But that was different; that was a case of childhood mischief, inevitable and excusably healthy. But for it to follow a man into adulthood was pitiable.

That having been said, rooting around through someone else’s bedside table to find one’s own stolen property hardly counted as mischief. He scoured in earnest, without any eyes to catch him or anyone to answer to, but found no glimmer of silver, no glitter of sapphire. Bitterly, he shoved the drawer closed.

He had grown too restless. The sky outside was somber and gray, the trees thick. He imagined he could get away with a stroll along the shore of the lake, provided with the cover of the clouds and a modest cloak. Modest, of course, could describe most of his possessions, lately.

The air was humid with an impending summer storm. Still, there was a sweet breeze off the lake and the smell of the grass and the fresh water was a salve for the soul. Growing up in Windhelm, and later behind the stone walls of High Hrothgar, Ulfric had spent his childhood packed in from all sides with snow. For him, there was something classically romantic about green grass and rivers free of ice floes. 

He moved quietly, wary of his surroundings. A fox or two skittered past, and a family of deer looked on from a rocky outcropping. He could hear the shouts of men on fishing boats, unable to pick out specific words, left only with a jumble of calls and answers. He wondered in which ways – if any at all – the lives of these Riften folk had been altered by the war.

 

 

 

 

 

Audric slumped against a tree, wheezing, desperate for air. He hadn’t stopped moving since the Embassy. The world was dark, the sky obscured by clouds fat with snow. Etienne was still struggling into his armor. They wouldn’t risk staying even in Dragon Bridge, not with the alarm Audric had raised. Surely Thalmor and Legion scouts alike were already crisscrossing the terrain, on the lookout for a Breton, and neither fancied taking the place of the other.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize just how much shit I’d stepped in,” he chuckled.

“No, no. Don’t apologize. You didn’t have to save me, so...thanks.” The two of them froze, indistinguishable from the cliffside behind them as a trio of guards went tromping through the snow. The torchlight touched the toes of their boots, but revealed little in the vastness of night. When the footsteps had receded, Etienne whispered, “We should get moving, friend.”

“Friend?” Audric asked, pleased.

“I’ve seen you before, in the Flagon.” Reaching out and brushing his fingers along Audric’s armor, he added, “Please tell me this is new regulation.”

“Sorry, but this was a gift.” 

“But of course,” he sighed. “Mercer would never shill out the coin for anything so nice.” 

Audric winced, deciding to leave Brynjolf with the job of filling him in. 

They paused for a drink at a river, quiet as shadows. Audric lowered his hood and splashed his face, not caring how the water mingled with sweat and dripped into his eyes. He blinked away the sting, savored the relief of the fresh air after the stale torture chamber. 

Etienne was staring at him.

“Am I wounded?” he asked, began feeling his face.

“No, sorry. Only, you never gave me your name.”

“Audric.” He offered his hand, as if after an evening of jailbreaking and espionage they were fit for civil niceties. 

Etienne shook his hand just the same, still examining his face. “You wouldn’t happen to be an Audric Bellamy, would you?”

Taken aback, Audric’s arm fell limply to his side, nearly dragging Etienne into him. He stepped back, his muscles coiled, ready to run. “Do we know one another?”

“Indirectly,” he smiled. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. But I’m a friend of a friend; I was on a job for him, in fact, when I was captured.”

“Oh.” A stupid answer, but the information had overwhelmed him.

“Come on, we’d better keep moving.” 

The two men traveled side by side, flitting under the cover of darkness, keeping off the road. At Rorikstead, they parted, Audric turning into the inn. It was late, and Mralki wasn’t at the bar, so Audric simply dumped himself into an empty bed, would pay his fee in the morning. He could not sleep, though. He was still reeling with adrenaline from his escape, and his mind was abuzz with questions.

Questions, now, about Ulfric.

Three profiles were tucked into his pack. ‘Indifferent’ and ‘mildly curious’ might describe how he felt about two of them, but the third one. The one marked ‘Ulfric Stormcloak’ had his interest firmly grasped. He’d never been averse to snooping, but for some reason, rifling through the file left a bitter taste in his mouth, so instead, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

He didn’t wake until noon and was pleased to see that the wrath of the Thalmor had yet to extend outside of Haafingar. He didn’t bother with breakfast, not wanting to lose any more time but also unwilling to suffer the silent scorn of the innkeeper while he trifled with the innkeeper’s son.

The air was muggy and the sky was overcast, bloated with clouds. Bugs congregated in thick swarms and Audric’s tongue felt heavy and dry in his mouth. He met few travelers on the road, but he wished now that he’d followed Etienne the night before, so that the time might have passed unnoticed. 

His thoughts turned to Ulfric. Not Ulfric Stormcloak, not the deposed Jarl of Windhelm, but Ulfric who had done his dishes in a fit of agitation. For the first time, he thought of Ulfric not as a fixture, but as a man. He remembered Ulfric showing his age in his words, rather than on his face. It was difficult not to remember the refined way in which he carried himself in spite of his plain, unassuming garb. It wasn’t about power or station for him, as so many were quick to presume; eminence, for what it was worth, was in Ulfric’s blood, unreliant on external trivialities like clothes or court or the like. 

_A king is a king is a king_ , Audric sighed to himself. 


	4. Chapter 4

“You look...” Ralof hesitated, staring at the scraggly Breton on his doorstep, “worse for wear.”

“Yes, I’ve just returned from a Thalmor garden party. Care to hear all about it?” Audric was clinging to the wooden lamp post, splinters be damned, grinning from ear to ear.

Gently, Ralof guided him inside, careful not to incite any reactions. “You’ve been on the road too long, again; you’re weary.” He steered the wind-blown, sunburnt man onto his own bed, posed him like a life-sized doll and began helping him out of his armor. He’d seen Audric worse, and Audric had seen him worse; there were no secrets here.

“Is that your nice way of saying I’m mad?” Audric inquired faintly. His skin was feverish beneath his clothes, so Ralof pulled those off of him, too.

Chuckling, he responded, “I think you’ve always been a bit mad.” He noticed the color draining from Audric’s face and pulled a bucket before him just in time. “You’re not mad, you’re ill from the heat.” He took clumps of dirty, russet hair in each hand, keeping it out of harm’s way. Once Audric had spat up the last thin strings of vomit, Ralof wiped his tired face with a wet cloth, cleaned him up, tucked him in. 

“Do you remember,” Audric coughed, “the first time we met?”

“How could I forget?” he laughed. 

“No, the first time we really met.” His eyes were closed, and in the light, Ralof could see that they were bruised. “Not, not scrambling through Helgen. Later. You know.”

“Shh.” He felt Audric’s forehead, smelled his breath; this was only a touch of sun-sickness, nothing more.

“I was sick then, too,” he yawned.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” 

“I don’t know what I’m saying.”

_That much is obviou_ s, he thought, but kept quiet. Not that Audric would remember this in a few hours, anyway. 

Yes, he remembered meeting Audric, vividly. And indeed, the boy had been sick then, too. Before Helgen, he’d never killed another man, and once his actions had caught up with him, his knees had buckled and he’d nearly fainted into his own puddle of sick. That had been almost a year ago. Since then, Audric had stopped in on him to and from his many adventures, supplying Ralof with excellent tales. Though now, it would be some time before he could show his face in Riverwood – in any town – without fear of arrest; Audric’s legacy would have to wait. 

In part, it was difficult to live in hiding. Things that had once been a simple matter of a stroll to the general store now took hours of his time. He’d plotted a decent vegetable garden, but man could not survive on greens alone. Alternatively, there was a definitive peacefulness to being so far removed from society, to answering only to himself. He wondered, glancing at his sleeping friend, if this was something of what it must be like to be him.

 

 

 

 

 

It was with startling frequency that Audric awoke to strange ceilings, so he did not panic. Instead, he let his memory and his breath come back to him. He was naked, he realized, his clothing folded neatly on the table beside him, armor nowhere to be seen. Nudity was hardly unusual for him either, though from what he remembered, the context was disappointingly platonic. He sat up slowly, but his head still spun so he tucked himself in half and waited for it to stop. 

“Finally awake,” came a familiar voice. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” Audric answered from between his knees, “and like I got caught on the business end of a mammoth’s tusk.” 

“Well the sun is nearly down. Why don’t you go outside and have yourself a bath. Do us both a favor,” he smiled.

“Ha.” Audric stood, stretching, spots swimming in his vision.

The sky was gorgeous, the dying sunlight blushing across the treeline. Torchbugs blinked in and out of sight and birds sang their evening songs. Still a little delirious, he felt as though he were walking through a dream. In the shadow of the mountains, under the embers of dusk, Audric stepped into the cool lake, the hairs on his arms and legs standing on end. The water was a relief, and he made short work of dunking himself, feeling better and better as he soaked. He floated along on his back and listened to the wind in the trees, the flutter of moth wings, the splash of fish. He closed his eyes, wishing he could sleep, drown himself, let Skyrim sort out its dragon infestation for itself. Let Ulfric clean up his own damned mess.

In the way that all youths are, Audric was quick and sure in his presumptions. He was an educated young man, was aware of the complications of natural resources and political economics and religious conflicts. At a glance, he’d thought he’d untangled the riddle of what drove Ulfric’s rebellion. And all in all, he couldn’t say he disagreed; Justiciars being allowed to come into homes in the night, to arrest families and torture people to death, in the Empire’s own prisons, no less...it certainly left a sour taste in his mouth. 

Inhaling an impressive breath, he dove under, submerging himself in the dark and quiet. 

Ralof was at the fire when he returned, the small house filled with the smell of a smoky broth. Audric deposited himself in a chair at the small kitchen table, dripping all over the place. He couldn’t remember when, exactly, Ralof had relocated to this isolated shack in the woods, but much as he appreciated Gerdur and Hod (not to mention their illimitable hospitality), Audric preferred the privacy. 

“So, when do you think you’ll be able to revisit civilization?” he teased. He sniffed the air, gorging himself on the rich aroma of wood smoke and dinner.

“Ha, give it a year, or two.”

“Probably after they recapture Ulfric,” he stated evenly. He didn’t actually intend to give the man up, but he’d surrendered to curiosity, and now he was angry. “I’m sure things will calm down considerably.”

Ralof sighed, his shoulders sagging under some invisible weight, and Audric resented his own childish grudge for burdening an already tired man. “I’d rather wait out my days in the wilderness than see Jarl Ulfric meet the headsman’s axe.”

“Well,” Audric paused, turning an empty tankard over in his hands, “at least you wouldn’t actually have to see it.” He didn’t need to look up; he could practically feel Ralof’s frown. “But really, you could just change your name, maybe retire to Falkreath.”

“A false hope, but I would change it to something braver,” he mused, filling Audric’s mug with water. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” He gazed upward, locked eyes with his friend. “I like ‘Ralof’ all right.”

Ralof chewed back a grin, twisting it into submission. “You’ve made that clear.”

“I could enunciate my point, after dinner.” It was a half-offer though, sincere as it was. Audric was exhausted and preoccupied and acutely aware of just how badly he needed to wash his mouth out, for his own sake before anyone else’s. 

“Not this time,” he smiled, “but perhaps the next.”

Audric pouted. “A dragon could make lunch out of me before next we meet, for all you know.”

“I doubt that,” he frowned. “Besides, you seem distracted.”

“I wasn’t joking about the Thalmor. It was closer than I’ve ever wanted to get, but necessity dictated a visit to the Embassy.”

Ralof turned sharply, scrutinizing him. Eventually, he regarded Audric dubiously and said, “Well you made it out alive. The question then is how did you make it _in_? And what necessity could drive you into that pit?”

“How I got in was through sheer charm and good looks,” he offered.

“Sheer dumb luck, more like,” Ralof pinched his cheek condescendingly. 

Audric pushed him away. “At any rate, my business there is my own.”

Ralof’s brow furrowed and his mouth sagged. “You don’t simply bring something like that up and expect a man not to inquire.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“It isn’t curiosity,” he growled, “but concern.”

The fire snapped angrily in the grate, and the blaze of popping embers flashed, reflected in their eyes. When Audric refused to comply, Ralof stood and walked away. For a moment, Audric wondered if he would be dismissed.

“You needn’t be concerned about me, friend,” he offered tenderly. “It’s a delicate matter, is all.”

Ralof afforded a glance over his shoulder and said, “You’ve entrusted me with matters more delicate, before.”

_No, I haven’t_ , Audric thought. The legs of the chair – carved haphazardly, in a hurry – scraped unevenly against the woodgrain, making an awful noise. Getting to his feet, he found his clothes and pulled them on, in such a state that he didn’t notice his shirt was backwards. He was already arranging his armor when Ralof came to him, clutching his forearm in a grip that gave him fright.

“Don’t go.”

_Apologize_ , Audric willed, silently, turning a savage gaze unto his good friend. Ralof released his arm as though wounded; fear looked foreign, carved into his ordinarily resolute features.

“I forget, sometimes,” he murmured, “you’re not all human.”

So used to Ulfric’s nescient digs at his race, Audric nearly spat some superbly choice curse words before he realized that it wasn’t his lineage being referenced, but his blood, directly. He actually smiled. “I’m not all dragon, either,” he assured.

Gingerly resting his hand on Audric’s shoulder, looking upon him from several inches’ height difference, he smirked, “Obviously.”

Casting his gaze out to the night beyond the windows, Audric sighed. “I ought to be going before the night is out.”

Nodding, Ralof steered him back to the table, pulled out a bottle of ale to be shared between them. “Perhaps just one tale then – my own, as you aren’t in the spirit, this evening.” Sitting across from Audric, he offered all he had in the way of an olive branch. “Take your pick, hm?”

Audric studied Ralof’s face, searching for new lines, more or less color, since their long ride together on that cart. He thought of Ralof’s outlook on fate that day, how he was prepared to meet the Divines, how he would stand for Ulfric before his own life. 

And here, Audric decided, was an opportunity that might never rear its head again.

“Tell me,” he pulled from the bottle, “about Ulfric Stormcloak.”

 

 

 

 

 

The night was black, the stars few, as Audric plodded along on horseback. A gentle wind rustled through the grass and the occasional pine needle would fall on his face. Hunched in his saddle, he contemplated all that he had learned in the last few days. He felt minimal guilt about reading the dossier, and knew he would read it again, trying to reconcile the information with what Ralof had been able to reveal.

Still, he had so many questions, and no way to get answers. 

At Riften’s south gate, he dismounted and shooed the horse on its way. It was a good, sturdy animal, but Audric had no business keeping it. He imagined it wouldn’t be long before Shadr found it, anyway.

The streets were empty, but for a few guards. He was tired and bitter, and wanted to make time stop, for just a while. He turned before the meadery and slipped out onto the docks. Naturally, it wasn’t long before disruption found him.

“So, how long has it been, this time?”

Audric flopped onto his back to look up at the shadowy figure of Brynjolf. “I don’t know.”

“Me neither.” He got to his knees and shifted until he could sit comfortably beside his guildmaster. “But I managed to get into trouble while you were away,” he declared with a grin, as if bragging. 

“Lady-trouble, I presume?” Audric asked. Usually, he was eager to be regaled with Brynjolf’s many and varied escapades – and also to exchange some of his own. But it was the end of a hard journey, punctuated with harder truths, and he felt as though his bones had grown dense with all the responsibilities he’d worked so hard to shirk.

“Of a sort.”

“Mm. And I suppose you’re just bursting to detail the particulars. I’m curious: was her enthusiasm while you fucked directly proportional to how hard she slapped you upon discovering that you’re an unrepentant cad?”

Silence descended over them. “Is that a hint of jealousy I detect, or is it just the road getting the better of you?” Beneath his nonchalance, there was a waver, an ounce of disquiet.

“Neither.” 

“Well good. For the record, I was referring to Maven; a slap would’ve been welcome, instead of the chewing I got for covering your hide.” Brynjolf’s lips against his hair shocked him. “Please, finish up this ancillary business of yours. Etienne told me about your little tour of the Thalmor Embassy.”

Audric’s blood went cold. 

“And now the Ratway is crawling with agents – looking for you, I suspect. And Maven tells me the Ambassador was fuming, that her office had been sacked, and with no less than at least ten casualties strewn about the premises.”

Audric searched for something to say, but the well was dry. He didn’t know what he ought to apologize for, didn’t know how to explain himself. 

“Bellamy, what have you done?”

He hadn’t told Brynjolf. He’d eschewed his identity as Dragonborn from the beginning, accepting it only once it became inevitable, and upon meeting this lovely, captivating man, he’d gone to great lengths to keep it to himself. Not that it was usually terribly difficult, in a country that expected the title for one of its own. But the dragons were becoming more numerous, more insistent, attacking closer and closer to city walls. And though he was as qualified a secret keeper as he was a thief, some secrets were simply too big.

“There was a job that I needed to do.”

Brynjolf frowned. “I hope the gold was worth your pound of flesh.”

“They were _Thalmor_.”

“It’s that sort of thinking that sired the war.”

“And that is a gross oversimplification.”

For a moment, it looked almost as if Brynjolf might hit him in the face, or just walk away entirely. But his jaw eased and the tension melted out of his shoulders and his eyes fell fondly to Audric’s own. “Just once, can’t you put some faith in my wisdom?” he was joking, of course.

“You’re old, Bryn, not wise,” Audric smacked his arm. “Besides, I don’t put faith in much.”

“Mm.”

The two of them sat side by side, leaning into one another, Audric’s head on Brynjolf’s shoulder as they gazed out at the darkened windows of Goldenglow. The property looked stark and abandoned without its old patrol.

“I don’t want you doing these outside jobs,” Brynjolf murmured. “Look where that got Etienne.”

“Every time you try to tell me what to do, I want you to remember that I wanted to turn down the position of Guildmaster”

“I’m not asking as your right hand, lad, I’m asking as your friend.” 

Audric sighed. “I can’t heed that request. The work I’m doing is important – though, I often wish it wasn’t my burden.”

Pulling back, Brynjolf gazed at Audric a while, his expression inscrutable. “You called it your burden. I don’t know Audric Bellamy to suffer anyone’s burdens, including his own. What is this wearisome errand you’re carrying out?”

_I’m purging the world of an ancient and terrible race_ , he thought sullenly. _I’m fulfilling a destiny I don’t entirely acknowledge._

“You won’t tell me,” Brynjolf smiled grimly. “Fine, keep your secrets, and I’ll keep mine.”

It was hard to imagine that Brynjolf had many secrets.

At long last, he pulled Audric against him, kissed him on the temple and whispered in his ear, “Master Bellamy, might I call upon you this evening in your home, or are you still entertaining your fugitive guest?”

Audric whined, wrapping his arms around Brynjolf’s waist. “Please, take me here on the landing, no one need be the wiser.”

“As if you could quiet yourself for even a second,” Brynjolf teased him. “You know,” his voice reeked of the same oiled charisma as if he were peddling Essence of Spriggan’s Breath or some such fanciful ware. “Goldenglow is up for sale. Maven needs a new overseer.”

Audric scoffed. “Divines save that sod’s poor soul.” Working for Maven, even indirectly as he sometimes did, nauseated him at best. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Think about it: that whole, big house to ourselves, running the guild from a comfortable distance…”

“ _Our_ selves?”

“You could keep Honeyside, let your friend stay at his leisure, and we wouldn’t have to spare coin just to catch up after your long excursions – not that we don’t take it right back, but that’s hardly the point–”

“Wait, wait, slow down. Are you suggesting I buy Goldenglow?”

“Not at all,” Brynjolf beamed cheerfully. “I’m suggesting that we buy it, together. Go in on it in halves, as that would only be fair.”

Audric felt as if his stomach had dissolved and he dearly wished that the rest of his body might follow suit. “And then what? A happy announcement? You don’t seem the type and you know I’m not. What kind of stunt are you trying to pull here, exactly?”

Brynjolf’s big, sonorous laugh rang over the lake, scaring a thrush into flight. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Crossing his arms, indignant now, Audric rolled his eyes.

“I was merely suggesting that it might be nice to put ourselves up in some privacy together, without the looming presence of your house guest or your housecarl, for that matter. And without the presence of Mercer’s memory…. It was a lark anyway, a fantasy. I feel about as good as you do about living so closely under Maven’s thumb – as if her new title doesn’t put us too close for comfort, as is.” 

Ever since he had agreed to aid Ulfric in recovering his political stature, Audric would occasionally entertain the idea of having Maven deposed, preferably in a public and humiliating fashion.

“Well, I need to get to bed; I’m really and truly tired.”

Brynjolf stood and offered his hand, pulled Audric to his feet. His eyes traveled slowly along Audric’s body. “That armor looks better on you than it does me.”

“I don’t know about that.” The memory of the first time they’d donned the Nightingale armor together was still crisp in his mind. “Nocturnal’s uniform does you more favors than you deserve.”

The two of them walked together, back into the city and at a leisurely pace along the canals until they found themselves in the low light of the lantern by Audric’s door. 

“Goodnight, Bellamy. Get some rest. I’ll pawn your numbers off on Karliah, this time.”

“Thank you.”

“And when next you decide to go gallivanting off to places you don’t belong, tell me.”

“Why, so you can try to stop me?” Audric chortled.

Gently, Brynjolf placed his hand on Audric’s neck, the pads of his fingers weighing against his skin. “So I can worry about you properly.”

Audric stood in mild confusion and watched until Brynjolf faded into the shadows before he finally turned and unlocked his front door.

Ulfric was sitting in the kitchen, writing in a journal. As Audric’s eyes found the points of him, his thoughts became a snarled tangle of like and dislike, of admiration and loathing, of pity and antipathy. Unknowing, Ulfric looked up from his work and even afforded him a slight, tentative smile. “Good evening.”

Audric nodded and passed into his bedroom. He slipped out of his armor out of eyesight. “I was expecting a lecture,” he admitted at length.

“Whatever for?”

“I was much longer than I said I’d be.”

Ulfric considered this in silence, thoughtful, discerning. “I was...troubled, but I saw you come up the south road.”

As Audric crawled into bed, he wondered what else Ulfric had seen; moreover, he wondered why it bothered him so. 


	5. Chapter 5

The wind scoured the stone walls, whistling through cracks in the mortar, stinging Audric’s fingertips. Still, it was not enough to impede him and he moved deftly up, fingers and feet finding purchase in old crevices; the cold was unpleasant and unexpected, though it seemed too obvious a thing to overlook, in retrospect. 

The windows were all built into the wall – a common yet decisive design flaw – and it was a simple matter of leverage for Audric to perch on the ledge. It was only a minute, if that, before he had worked the carefully-crafted screws out of their hinges.

It was dark and even musty inside. The torches were set just a bit too far apart, the flames not quite big or bright enough to wholly light the way. He didn’t have time to get too comfortable with his odds, though; almost as soon as he’d closed the window, footsteps were echoing from above, getting nearer. He shimmied up a beam and into the stone scaffolding just in time; below, a brace of soldiers stopped to idle. He rolled his eyes, quite literally eavesdropping on the dull conversation: it was the usual carp and grouse show that could be found in any barracks. He tried to regulate his breathing, to still the itching in his impatient fingers as he listened to the soldiers grumble about the weather, about the food, about missing the families they had elected to leave behind. 

In the interest of time and convenience, he resigned himself to the rafters, crawling and crouching and fitting himself through impossible spaces. At last, he arrived in the main foyer, where there were guards posted at every door. There was a crawlspace exactly above the room he needed to be in, but to get to it would be hardship enough, never mind the task of dismantling the vent inside. Roosting in the shadows, he considered his options. He was decent at throwing his voice, although he didn’t know if decent was enough to keep him from messing it up, as there were angles and pockets of space unaccounted for. There was a vial of venom at his disposal, collected en route, that he had hoped to brew into astringent. But the shattering of glass and the smell of acid dissolving lime would certainly draw attention, enough for him to creep across the way without being noticed.

As fortune would have it, there was a great boom from beneath, and even the stone beams shook. Audric’s feet hit the floor just as the last soldier’s back disappeared around the corner towards the dungeons. He murmured a quiet benediction to Nocturnal for her handiwork. The lock on the great doors might have been ornate, but it was still just a lock, and with the right attention and careful regard, it yielded like an old friend. 

It was now dim, empty, and uncomfortably warm. Outside, there was the sound of the patrol returning to their posts – or replacements, come to resume while the others were preoccupied. Regardless, there was a heavy cover on just the other side of a wooden door, and here he was in the very heart of Castle Dour.

Tullius was seated in a modest, wooden chair. The fire that rumbled in the immense grate cast him in its hellish light, though only from one side. He appeared to be immersed in paperwork, fingers scratching absently at his graying hair. While he had very little respect for the man, Audric resented what he was about to do. From behind, he locked Tullius’ face in the crook of his arm and squeezed, choking any sounds of alarm. With his other hand, he unsheathed Tullius’ own blade and held it to his throat. Leaning in as though they were familiar and not acquainted by way of a botched execution, he said cooly, “Good evening, General.”

Tullius made an outraged noise into Audric’s armor.

“Sorry to drop in on you like this, but I know how difficult arranging a formal salon can be. You’re a busy man, cooped up here in your tower, playing extravagant games of chess on the Emperor’s coin; I understand.” He wasn’t exactly on a clock, and could afford to get his digs in while he had the opportunity. “Anyway, you have a few options here.” For effect, he pressed the edge of the blade close enough to the skin to distress, though not to maim. “You can try to fight me, and I’ll kill you. Or, you can call for backup. But know that I will slaughter your boys. And I want you to contemplate that the tears of grieving parents, children, and lovers would be not only on your hands, but likely on your grave.”

In fact, it pained him to deliver this speech, and he dearly hoped his bravado read as genuine so that he could avoid a much bigger mess than he was prepared to clean up. Tullius winced under the pressure of his arm, and he presumed it was safe to wrap things up.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re absolutely correct. This is quite a reckless maneuver on my part. But then again, I infiltrated the Thalmor Embassy, and what’s more, I came right back here to have tea on its doorstep. So bearing that in mind, I’m sure you and I can come to some sort of peaceful agreement.”

They remained frozen like that for another moment, until Tullius sighed and went limp under Audric’s bluff.

“Alright, I’m taking my hand away, now.” Carefully, Audric withdrew, and even surrendered Tullius’ sword. 

Tullius turned his chair to face his assailant and shook his head. “You’re one cold, conniving bastard.” 

“I prefer the term ‘strategist.’ But from one strategist to another, thank you.” Audric waited politely to be offered a seat before making himself comfortable. He kept a keen eye on Tullius’ hands as he poured out two glasses of wine. 

“What is it that you want so badly from me that you had to worm your way past my guards and threaten me at the point of my own sword?” As disgruntled and thoroughly incensed as he appeared to be, there was a hint of respect in his address.

“I came here to talk.” Audric took the wine, but did not drink. In his head, he cataloged a list of poisons that were colorless, odorless, or both. “Or rather, to strike a bargain.”

“And you couldn’t do that in a civil and approved fashion?” he raised one critical, thinning eyebrow. “Preferably in broad daylight?”

“After the stunt I pulled two weeks ago?” Audric swilled the wine in his glass, inhaling it as if to appreciate the bouquet. “You’d have to arrest me and quite possibly try to execute me, and while I’m as much of a sentimentalist as the next man, I’m on a schedule.”

Frowning, Tullius growled, “What makes you so sure I won’t gag you right here and have you hauled into the dungeon? I never did officially grant you pardon; you still have a date with the headsman’s axe.”

“Well for one thing,” and Audric was desperately counting his chickens, “you just gave away your plan of action. And for another, you need me. That’s what I’ve come to discuss.” He caressed the rim of his glass until it sang. “I know you’re seeking to mine Skyrim for its manpower. And even if you can claim indifference to me in one regard, you can’t deny that my influence would help win favor.”

The tension as it stacked itself between them was palpable. Tullius was as proud as Audric was sly, but he was also a man of logic, hailing from the cradle of rational thought. It was obvious in the creases of his face and the defeat in his eyes that he was turning the idea over in his head. “You might have found yourself in my graces had you offered your support while we were still fighting for Skyrim.”

Audric resisted the urge to oppose him, to accuse him of fighting against Skyrim, then promptly decided he’d had one too many friendly drinks with Ulfric. 

“What’s your sudden interest in the political climate, anyway?”

Audric had anticipated this conversation, and had devoted much of his time on the road to constructing a response. “I don’t place bets in small change,” he said cryptically. “But I hear you’ve got it out for the Dominion, next, and I know even you aren’t arrogant enough to think you can take them on. Not with the state the Empire’s in.”

It was no secret that the Emperor wouldn’t sanction a strike against the Thalmor, especially right after securing Skyrim under the pretense of enforcing a ban on Talos worship. Though, the son of a warlord, and an experienced tactician in his own right, he might be willing to change hands if Tullius could gain political and strategic favor.

“Mede would never acquiesce to such a reckless proposal, and you know it. You’d never get the funding or the foot labor. But indulge me in imagining a scenario in which not only can you claim the support of every able-bodied man and woman in Skyrim, but the might of the Dragonborn at your disposal.” He grinned, but his jaw was clenched and it wasn’t pleasant at all. Offering to publicly extort himself for the gain of another was killing him. But he was not doing this for Ulfric, ultimately. He had a bone to pick with the Thalmor, and now, it was personal.

“I admit, I don’t know much about you, but from what I’ve heard, you don’t operate out of the goodness of your heart. What’s the catch?” 

Audric’s grin turned genuine, amused at having accrued such an accurate reputation. “While I’d hardly describe myself as charitable, I’m not out for blood, either.” He did not miss the way Tullius stroked the scabbard of his sword. "If you’re aiming to launch an assault on the Embassy, you’ll need to rally the Jarls to that cause.”

“Not a difficult task.”

“Really? And what of those with ties to the Thalmor? I agree, you’ll find some Holds will be quick to take up the cause, but I think you’ll hit some resistance from the Rift and from Eastmarch.”

“ _Eastmarch_ ,” Tullius laughed, “you have to be joking. Are you telling me Windhelm, of all places, wouldn’t jump on the chance to take the fight to the Dominion?”

“It’s not a question of Windhelm, it’s a question of Brunwulf Free-Winter.” Audric had made a few visits to reconstructed Windhelm, checking in on friends, getting drunk at the Cornerclub. Progress, as was so often the case, did not advance at a steady momentum; he'd witnessed more hate crimes during his stunted visits than during Ulfric’s reign. The people had been frothed into hostility by change, and with the allowance of Argonians within the city, they had become targeted not only by Nords, but by Dunmer, as well. “He can’t be persuaded to aid a war effort.”

“But –”

“He isn’t a strategist or an economist; he’s a veteran. He won’t be convinced with numbers.” Audric reclined in his chair, propping his feet up on the fine table in front of him.

“Is that your way of saying he won’t be convinced at all?”

“Mmm.” Staring into his glass, he noticed the wine had changed consistency; he set it down altogether. “You really did yourself a disservice, unseating Ulfric Stormcloak.” The fire snapped, emphasizing the stiff silence that encased them. 

“And pray tell, what would you have done, in my position?” Tullius had him there: a venerated officer, and a government official, to boot, he was hardly poised to act on any whim but the Emperor’s.

“I try not to presume. But I am offering an expedient alternative to months and months of political campaigning and tedious bootlicking. I will join your cause, Tullius. I will back you totally, bringing not only my considerable skills and talents, but also a host of contacts and friends – people indebted to me, people of power.” He could see the question forming behind Tullius’ eyes before it ever left his mouth. “Free-Winter isn’t going to be your only challenge; Divines save the man who forgets to account for Maven Black-Briar.”

Tullius brought his hands to his temples and actually groaned. 

“She’s in good standing with Elenwen; it will take some serious pull to talk her into abdicating.”

“You don’t honestly think you can coerce Black-Briar into stepping down.”

“Is that disbelief or reverence in your voice, General?” he grinned. “Believe me when I say that I don’t think I could coerce her into much, but she has deeper, more binding ties outside of the Embassy.” He deliberated revealing Maven's affiliation with the Guild, but he didn’t want to play his hand too straight.

“Even so, what solution do you propose to the Windhelm problem?”

Audric sighed. “Brunwulf is tired. He’s struggling to keep the city intact as its citizens squabble amongst themselves. He’s already under pressure; allow me to lay the bricks as I see fit, and he’ll fold.”

“Yes, but who is going to replace him?”

“I have someone in mind.” He stood, removed the bottle of wine from the desk – the same bottle from which his drink had been poured. “You deposed Ulfric Stormcloak, but you failed to detain him.”

“No.”

“Oh? Because that’s all anyone spoke about for weeks after the fact –”

“No, I won’t. I absolutely will not put that traitor back on the throne. And if you have any knowledge of his whereabouts, you’d better surrender it right this instant –”

Audric cleared his throat pointedly and started humming arpeggios. 

“You and he are a lot alike, aren’t you.” Tullius was fuming and his accusation had startled. “You would stoop to use a gift that has been blessed upon you to fleece the world into furthering your own gain.”

“Hypocrite,” Audric shot back. “As if accepting my help absolves you of the very crime you’re trying to charge me with?” 

“You won’t make good on your offer unless I put Ulfric in power, then.”

“Additionally, I will require that you pardon him in full; a ruler in exile is hardly practical. Feel free to grant him my clemency; I’m sure the paperwork would be easier than whatever you’re slaving over now.” He popped the cork off the bottle he was holding and dumped his poisoned wine back into it, moving the identical bottles around on the shelf as he savored the expression of hard defeat in the lines of Tullius’ face.

“That’s a steep price you’re willing to pay.”

Audric shrugged, nonchalant. “My clemency is in my blood.” 

“Arrogant.”

“True enough.” Audric saluted him as he drew his hood back over his face. “Now I am afraid I must bid you farewell. Don’t worry, I can see myself out.” There was a lightness in his heart as he crept out through the nearest window and made his way down an overgrown trellis. He strolled along the low ramparts, chuckling over the image of Tullius having to dispose of bottle after bottle of expensive, spiced wine. 

_Games of chess, indeed_ , he thought smugly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

With Windhelm growing farther and farther behind him, shrinking into the snowflurries, Audric half expected to hear a sorrowful cry from the Palace of the Kings. As it was, it would be some time before Brunwulf Free-Winter realized he had been betrayed. Interestingly, Audric felt worse about this polite manipulation than his threats of violence against Tullius. It was not the deed he felt bad about, but the men whom he was slighting; Tullius was shrewd and demanding, while Free-Winter was nothing but kind.

In fact, once their visit was under way, he had confided in Audric his frustration and concern about the letter from Tullius, announcing the Legion’s intentions to confront the Embassy as an antecedent to a strike on the Dominion – Audric had noticed that, cleverly, Tullus had left out the part where he had yet to run this little scheme by the requisite higher-ups.

And Audric had played his part, just as promised. He hummed and nodded sympathetically in all the right places; he offered careful suggestion and played to Brunwulf’s pacifist sensibilities. When pressed for an acceptable form of nonviolent protest, Audric had furrowed his brow and said that he could always step down. And when asked who would ever take up the throne – the throne that Brunwulf never wanted – Audric had put a hand on the man’s broad shoulder and intoned that he shouldn’t worry, that Tullius would come up with somebody. And after that, he had kindly reminded him that it was only an idea, something to turn over before sleep.

Audric felt physically ill and wobbled in his saddle.

Still, he had a lot on his plate and little time to think about the particulars. Not that his mind would focus on any of those particulars for more than a moment anyway; instead, it insisted on tormenting itself, consumed with petty, irrelevant details. Namely, he found himself thinking of Ulfric, more often than not: he had no reason to fret, no reason to suspect that he’d find trouble when up to this point, he’d found none at all. There was also the matter of their imminent departure. Soon – very soon, if circumstance allowed – Ulfric would be back in Windhelm, likely with very little to do with Audric, save for occasional brushes at political meetings, which, hopefully, he could avoid for the better part of the whole ordeal. He hoped his end of the bargain would entail as little involvement as possible. He had enough to worry about between High Hrothgar and Delphine. 

At the house, he got out of his armor and into some comfortable clothes. He was exhausted, but his mind wouldn’t wind down for the night. Balefully, he glanced at his bedside table, where he’d hidden a modest cache of moon sugar. But he knew that if Ulfric caught on, it would probably ruin all his hard work. 

He sat at the table, but didn’t eat anything. He supposed he could pull out a book, but that didn’t interest him either – a sure sign that something was amiss. Tucking his head in the crook of his folded arms, he sighed and closed his eyes. If sleep took him on his kitchen table, so be it. 

_Why did I agree to this?_ he wondered. _What have I gotten myself into?_

What it boiled down to was that he was procrastinating. He knew he oughtn’t to, knew he should be at High Hrothgar this very evening, interrogating Arngeir. But he did not want to interrogate Arngeir and he didn’t want to deal with the debate he knew would follow.

_I’m not meant for this_ , he thought, his throat choking up. _I’m a coward, and a thief, not a defender, not a liberator_. “Why me?” he croaked aloud, his eyes welling.

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

Audric nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around, staring wildly at Ulfric, unable to decide if he should wipe his eyes or pretend he wasn’t crying. “I figured you’d gone for one of your walks.”

Ulfric shook his head. “Not tonight.” His hand went to his pocket, and he produced a plain kerchief. He watched Audric accept it reluctantly, watched him try to dry his eyes as if nothing was amiss. “There is no shame in frustration; we are all faced with difficult, seemingly impossible tasks.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, “ but what of fear?”

“Are you frightened?” 

Audric sniffed. “Terrified.” He’d only allowed himself tears was because he’d thought Ulfric wasn’t around to see them. “The Divines are foolish to favor me.”

Ulfric paused, deliberating for a time. After a moment, he offered, “I could be wrong, but I think fear often serves us well. I think bravery entails doing what must be done, anyway.”

Audric’s aloof expression was vastly undermined by the bout of hiccups he was suddenly plagued with. “That doesn’t sound like bravery, that sounds like –” he covered his mouth, turning red, “ – stupidity.”

Fighting a smile, Ulfric nodded. “Those qualities often intersect.”

Audric smiled through his tears and his hiccups. “I still don’t think I’m cut out for this Dragonborn business.”

“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t.”

“What about you?” The best tactic, Audric usually found, was to create a diversion. “Ever terrified? Ever put something off, something that scared you?”

Ulfric didn’t seem offended, or even defensive, just...thoughtful. Eventually, a grim little smile appeared on his face and he hummed, contemplative. “I wasn’t too much younger than you, I think, when I left High Hrothgar to serve in the Great War.” The lines on his face deepened with sadness. “I was brash, then, and was captured by the Dominion.”

Audric’s stomach plummeted.

“Sparing you the details, once they’d discovered my identity, they assigned me to their most capable torturer. She was…” he shuddered, “inventive.”

Elenwen’s face, as he remembered it from the party at the Embassy – her warm, welcoming smile – flashed through Audric’s memory and an unfathomable anger burned under his skin.

“I tried. I tried not to say anything. But…” 

“Put under enough pressure, even a diamond will crack.”

“Enough?” Ulfric demanded. “This pressure could only be described as excessive.”

Caught off guard, Audric tried to backpedal. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“And I hope you never do.” Composing himself, he continued his tale. “In the end, I broke. And I was ashamed, and I was frightened. I started making things up, whether out of fear or delusion, from the pain...and the whole time, I was waiting for her to figure it out, to kill me, because I didn’t think I could face my brothers and sisters in-arms if they knew…”

It was so much worse than that dossier had led him to believe. The clinical language, the terseness with which the report had been written…. When Audric had imagined Ulfric a weak traitor, it was easy to be angry. But now, to imagine him as a young man, scared and dismayed with pain and humiliation, Audric wanted to burn that book and scatter the ashes.

“That’s terrible,” he finally said. 

“That’s war,” Ulfric countered.

 

*      *      *

 

The hearing was to be held quietly, prudent and informal inside of the nearby fort. The bar would be small, whittled down from its usual pomp to the bare, necessitated officials: Tullius would be in attendance, naturally. Ulfric was outraged.

“Consider it the trial owed to you in the first place,” Audric tried to appease him. 

“It’s not a trial, it’s a negotiable surrender,” he grumbled.

“You lost the war, you can at least lose the battle with grace, can’t you?”

“You could Shout me to death and save me the trouble.” 

“Oh, spare me your theatrics.”

The morning was mild, and a fine mist had settled over the wooded glade. Birds twittered and horses stomped in their paddocks. The soldiers all looked on with unrest. Inside, the gathering was already underway. They were early, but Tullius likely wanted this over and done with as badly as Ulfric did. 

The General was found looking tired and rankled at the hand of Maven Black-Briar. 

“So, this is what the Empire has resorted to, then?” she hissed at him. “Twisting the arms of its constituent rulers with – with exploitation and coercion!” 

Audric snorted, barely under his breath.

“If it displeases you so,” Tullius said, “take it up with my associate, here.” He gestured in Audric’s direction, leaving him, basically, to the wolves. He noticed Ulfric politely excused himself.

“Well,” she looked down her nose at him, “I’m hardly surprised to find you mixed up in all of this.” She maintained the air of an irate mother, faced once again with her problem child. 

“You recognize my work,” he answered cheerfully. Then, he watched Maven’s eyes follow his hand to the salient, curved blade at his side, watched them widen first with recognition, and then horrified confirmation. “Isn’t it a shame that you don’t have dear old Astrid to fall back on.”

“It was _you_...”

“And pray tell, what do you intend to do about it? Take your revenge, right here, I invite you.” He looked over at the cluster of guards, all standing awkwardly in witness to the exchange. 

“And impugn the Empire’s sanctioned murder? Not in present company.”

Turning his back on her, he afforded a last rejoinder. “At least it was sanctioned.” He wasn’t a fool though; he knew it was a delicate thread indeed that held him just out of Maven’s reach. He knew that the only reason things were likely to go his way was Maven’s own ambition; she had exerted too much of her time, effort, and coin to relinquish what was left of her life’s work. He was gambling on her pride, betting that she would cast her lot with the Empire and preserve her power rather than crawl into obscurity at Elenwen’s feet.

Inside one of the smaller rooms, the panel had assembled, settled in rickety chairs. The notary wasn’t even formally dressed. Few were in attendance, only the necessary bureaucrats and civil servants, but among them was Brunwulf Free-Winter, and the pained expression he offered in passing lodged itself firmly in Audric’s chest like a blade and twisted.

Once everyone was situated, Tullius stood and addressed the assembly.

“We all know why we are here this morning, so if I may,” and who would oppose him, “I’d like to keep the procedure brief, if a little informal.”

“Not quite so informal as Helgen, I hope,” Ulfric dared.

Audric might have kicked him, if he could’ve reached.

“Ulfric Stormcloak, I would advise you to sit ingratiatingly through this; your pardon hasn’t been guaranteed.” Tullius turned his gaze on Audric as he spoke. “There are yet agreements to be reached, no doubt through onerous negotiation.”

“I see no headsman here, let us negotiate undisturbed,” Audric answered. If he had comment, Ulfric wisely buried it beneath his breath. “The discussion of Ulfric’s pardon, then.”

“The crimes you are charged with are numerous,” Tullius began, but was not allowed to finish.

“Also, debatable,” Audric chimed in.

“You, Sir Bellamy, would do well to keep your input to yourself, unless instructed otherwise.” 

If greasing Tullius’ ego with a bit of false contrition would ensure the proper outcome, Audric would happily rest on his laurels, enjoying his own commentary alone.

“As I was saying, the counts which Ulfric is charged are numerous, some perhaps more deplorable than others...but as an Imperial province, Skyrim is under my jurisdiction, and I will punish and pardon as I see fit.” This was, unquestionably, a display by Tullius for his own benefit; that a Breton rogue had slipped in through the cracks of his castle in the night, had dared hold him at the point of his own sword and make hefty demands was too much. That his rank and hard-earned authority had been reduced – and worse, had been challenged – meant he needed some reassurance, if only from himself. “This proposal of amnesty is not an act of charity, however. There is a price to be paid, and no matter the decided cost, you will meet it. Are the terms understood?”

With a sidelong glance, Ulfric, humbled by his plight, agreed.

“If you are granted pardon, you will be granted the right to resume the throne in Windhelm. The conditions thereof are as follows –”

“I cannot contain my thoughts any longer, General,” Brunwulf Free-Winter spoke out of turn, his angry voice rebounding off the cool stone walls. “The whole affair is highly objectionable, and I find myself questioning not only your order, but that of the Empire itself.”

Ulfric’s eyes seemed to lighten at that.

“Free-Winter, you have made your position on my dealings on the whole quite clear. In the last month alone, you have rejected my terms and motions of state, proving yourself more obstacle than aid,” Tullius groused, though his tone remained even and patient. “And last I recall, you were writing me to discuss the possibility of your resignation.”

“That was before I knew you’d been scheming to put Ulfric back on the throne!”

“Scheming? I didn’t take you for the type to confuse coincidence with conspiracy.” 

Silently, Audric applauded the ease with which Tullius lied. The thing about thieves and politicians, he’d observed over the years, was that they shared a variety of skillsets.

“If, at the end of this hearing, Ulfric Stormcloak is acquitted and wishes to discuss the terms of his return to Windhelm, I assure you, there will be fail-safes put into place.”

“That wasn’t what was discussed,” Ulfric objected.

“No, and it won’t be if the three of you remain squabbling like children!” Audric raised his voice, startling even the guards. “I didn’t rise with the sun and skip my meal to bear witness to your bureaucratic bullshit, Tullius.” At this point, his fellows appeared shocked into submission, and Maven was regarding him with disgust. “And Brunwulf, I would expect that in lieu of trust, you might put an ounce of tactical faith in our esteemed governor. And as for _you_ ,” he rounded on Ulfric in his seat. “You have the least room to impede this trial. I wonder that you don’t curl in on yourself with your own entitlement!”

The only sound was the steady drip of a leak at the far end of the room, as if everyone feared that if they so much as breathed offensively, Audric might Shout down the walls. At length, when no one else would endeavor to resume the proceedings, Maven cleared her throat. 

“Well, if you find the board unqualified, why don’t you lead the negotiation?”

“I’m hardly the –” 

“I rather agree with Jarl Black-Briar,” Brunwulf offered coldly. “You’re the reason we’re assembled and, as you so courteously put it, ‘squabbling.’”

“This is ludicrous!” Tullius, outraged by his inability to wrangle his own board into deference, looked ready to pull out what remained of his hair. “A con presiding over the trial of a fugitive king is –”

“Rather fitting, I think.” Ulfric’s voice cleaved through the tension, rendering everyone – including Audric – silent. “As my venerated successor has pointed out, Sir Bellamy is the man pulling the strings. So I say, allow the maestro to conduct his piece.” 

“That’s three to two, General. I believe you’ve been outvoted.”

“Madness…” Tullius muttered. Balefully, he looked to Audric, who was even less enthused with the prospect. “Well, shall we get this over and done with?”

Deliberating, he considered the odds. If he declined, and left Tullius to lead the negotiation, they’d be here until dusk – or at least until someone committed murder out of frustration. And of the five of them, Audric knew how to manipulate them into cooperation, though he didn’t relish the thought. Outside, he could see that the shadows were already growing.

“Very well. Over and done with.”


	6. Chapter 6

The door opened and a gust of wind surged off the lake and into the house; the first whisper of autumn. 

“My Thane, the carriage –”

Audric held up his hand, rather rudely, as he flopped into the nearest chair. “Iona,” he drawled, voice thick with sleep, for the sun had not yet risen. “Please. Please. For the love of all that's holy, stop calling me that. It’s so…” he wrinkled his nose, “Impersonal.”

Exasperated by this man who broke rules with his bread, she sighed. “Then what am I to call you, liege?” 

“I don’t know, but not that, either. If you must address me formally, try using my name.” 

She had woken an hour before him, and a cup of strong tea had seen her awake as day. Smiling fondly at him, she tried again. “The carriage is nearly ready, Master Bellamy.” 

Critically, he squinted, but did not protest. “No, the driver is nearly ready, not necessarily the carriage.” Looking around at his beloved home, Audric realized that his floors were in terrible need of sweeping. Dust creatures roamed unchecked, without the usual clutter to inhibit their progress from under-bed to hearth. It had been a scramble, but in less than a week, he’d managed to collect his belongings – or, the important ones, at least – and pack them into a tidy set of crates. 

“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Iona leaned in the archway, “I think it is you, not the carriage, that isn’t ready.”

“I do mind,” he said quietly. 

“Your pardon then, for speaking frankly.” 

She was irritated with him, he knew, and not her usual affectionate agitation, either. And could he blame her? He had made secrets between them, and now he was uprooting her. Though that last responsibility, in his opinion, did not belong to him.

Then, as luck would have it, one last diversion appeared. 

“I have to take this,” he said, grabbing the register off his bed stand. “Before we depart, I have to take this to Plankside.”

“To the Ratway,” she accused.

“It’s your guess; do with it what you will.” Dumping his heavy cloak in her arms, he told her to wait for him with the driver; he’d only be a few moments.

Riften’s streets were still dark, the lanterns burning low. Audric pulled his coat closer about him, a vain effort to ward off the chill. Along the canals, mist rose from the water, more and more rolling in from the lake. It would surprise him if, in Windhelm, the river had not yet frozen over.

He did not want to go. And he was only going because he’d been strong-armed into it – under his own presiding, comically enough. Really, it was the result of Tullius’ last power grab, a testament to the fact that he was still the head of this operation. Which of course was ridiculous, but it was Audric’s personal belief that a man was entitled to whatever helped him sleep at night. Besides, Tullius couldn’t take all of the credit; Brunwulf, concerned for the delicate state of his city, had motioned for Audric to be positioned there as collateral. If Ulfric so much as stepped one toe beyond the bounds of the agreement, it would be Audric who would report to Tullius, and the whole tower of dominos would come crashing down. In exchange, he would be given pardon, his home back, not to mention political autonomy in the coming months of contention. 

And Audric had agreed to this. He’d agreed to it because he cared about a handful of Windhelm’s citizens; because he was ridden with guilt for betraying a friend; because he had worked too hard to get Ulfric reinstated to foil it all now. He would still be free to go about his business – given that his business was Alduin – but every two weeks, like clockwork, he would be expected to write his observations. Tullius knew him better than he cared to acknowledge, exploiting his nature. 

And apart from all of this, a strange mix of emotion was churning in his gut. He was outraged to be on a leash, no matter how loose, and Riften was his home, and being taken away from that infuriated him...yet, he could not muster quite enough anger to draw a line in the sand. Somehow, he couldn’t be bothered to put up enough of a fuss to remove himself from the mire of politics, neither to focus on his destiny nor his desires.

The Flagon was empty when he entered. None of the shopkeepers had opened yet, not even Vekel. A shame, Audric thought, as he could do with some brandy to fortify his blood against the cold. 

He entered the cistern and took his time bothering at his desk, picking through papers last-minute, trying to find an excuse to dither. He’d already left detailed instructions for Brynjolf, as he’d been absent when Audric had meant to speak with him, and give him a proper farewell. On his way out, however, Audric heard harsh whispers echoing off the stone walls, and followed them to a pocket room off the cistern. Crouching low in the shadows, he spied.

“How can you, of all people blame me for thinking it?”

“Because you know him better than I do,” Karliah volleyed, calm, “and you know that you’re angry at him, looking for reasons to doubt him, to spare yourself heartache.” 

A scoff.

“Brynjolf, no one would hold you in contempt for it, not after what you’ve been through –”

“And who’s saying I’d give a damn if anyone did?” he snapped.

Karliah sighed. “This isn’t how it’s meant to be,” she murmured. “Nightingales, friends, turning on one another, breeding mistrust.”

“Then take it up with our Agent of Stealth.”

There was a brief, somewhat pregnant pause, and Audric suddenly suspected that Karliah knew exactly where he was. 

“I suppose I don’t know what you were expecting of him, and neither does he,” she said thoughtfully. “He isn’t Gallus, Brynjolf, and he never will be.”

“Not if he keeps on the path he’s walking, he won’t,” he sneered.

Perhaps if Audric had been a bit older – or at the very least, a bit wiser – he could have walked away, shouldering the insinuation with a grain of salt. But as he was neither old nor wise, he did not walk away. As curiosity had drawn him in, anger now drove him forward.

“Karliah,” he nodded politely, rounding the corner. “If I might beg pardon? I don’t have long.”

Karliah’s eyes, soft and dark, searched him carefully, as if looking for broken parts. She seemed on the verge of speaking – a warning, a bit of advice, maybe – but thought better of it. 

And once she was gone, Audric tore into Brynjolf like a feral dog into a steak. “How _dare_ you.”

“Oh, how dare I? Excuse me, Guildmaster, for questioning your authority –”

“That’s not what this is about! If you have something to say, say it here, now, to me! Not to our friend!” Audric was fuming, his thoughts falling into a discombobulated jumble as the heat of rage overtook him. “How dare you put her in that position!”

“Me? Put Karliah in what position? As if she would allow herself to be shunted into any situation than one she desires.” Brynjolf straightened his back and squared his shoulders, approaching Audric directly. “And how dare you put me in the position of confiding in her? Audric, I should’ve been taking it up with you! I didn’t take that three-day job for kicks! I did it to get away from you!”

Silence clogged the air, suffocating them both. “Twist the knife, why don’t you?”

“No,” Brynjolf growled, “you don’t get to make me out to be the villain in this.”

“I’m not trying to –”

“Well you’re not trying not to, either.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Bryn.”

Brynjolf turned his back on Audric and breathed deeply a moment. When he turned around again, his face wasn’t so red, and the fire in his eyes had been tamped, for the moment. “I want you to say that you’re sorry. I want…” his jaw tightened and one hand curled into a fist. “I want you to explain yourself.”

Audric’s face flushed, no longer with anger, but with shame.

“Our ties with the Empire are tight, and you go and sneak Ulfric Stormcloak back onto his throne under their noses?”

“It didn’t happen quite like that.”

“I don’t care how it happened!” he bellowed. “Maven is furious! And now I hear that it’s you responsible for the slaughter of the Brotherhood?”

“They abducted me in the night!”

“Delvin has been beside himself!”

Audric needed to collect his breath, to keep his voice down. “Can’t you understand? I woke up on a cold, bloody floor. She demanded blood payment. Me, murder one of three innocent people.”

“And you thought it wise to take on Astrid?”

“She was _guilty_.”

“And as for the Brotherhood?”

Audric could not look him in the face. “I was ordered –”

“You don’t follow orders, Audric. You follow your whims. The order was simply convenient for you.” Brynjolf was right, and it stung. 

“You were the one who told me not to kill,” he murmured weakly.

“Yes! Don’t kill clients, don’t kill marks–”

“Don't kill innocents.”

“And most of all, do not kill associates!”

The silence of before closed in on them now, and Audric wondered if he might choke on it. Down the hall, he could hear people begin to stir. He had lingered too long already. “Can you look me in the face and tell me,” he breathed, “that you don’t feel a little bit more comfortable, knowing they’re gone?”

Now it was Brynjolf’s turn to look ashamed. “Someday, I really hope you learn that your own interests aren’t necessarily the most important.”

“My interests?” Audric barked. “She would’ve killed me!”

“She would’ve tried, and you could have defended yourself. And you could have left it at that.”

Then, Audric had a terrible idea. “You’re not upset about the Brotherhood; you’re upset about Maven.”

“Of course I’m upset about Maven! When I heard about your stunt with Stormcloak, I was waiting in horror for your head to arrive on a platter!” He was bristling, no longer even attempting to reign himself in. “And after all our hard work, after all we went through to restore the Guild, that you would be the undoing of it – I’m tempted to garnish you, myself!”

“Maven can’t touch me,” Audric hissed, “and by extension, the Guild.” 

“And could you do me the courtesy of explaining the mechanics of that?”

Audric stalled. There were two very different, both very relevant answers. “I told you,” he began, “I did not whisk Ulfric Stormcloak onto his throne in the night, like a stolen gem into a drawer. There was planning, and careful execution involved.”

“Is that what all the fuss up in Solitude was about?” he asked, though somewhat skeptical.

“Mostly,” Audric gulped. “Maven is caught in her own web,” he reassured, “she has aligned herself with the Empire, and the Empire put Ulfric back on his throne.”

“Really? Because to hear Maven tell it, it was you and Tullius, and unless I missed something very important, that hardly makes the Empire.”

He was sorely tempted to ask just how many Emperors it took to change out a lantern, but refrained for fear of knuckles cracking into his jaw. 

“I think it’s more than just Tullius’ authority that you’re resting on.” Brynjolf placed both his hands on Audric’s shoulders, gently though. He locked eyes with him, as if he might be able to sieve out the truth on his own.

“I…” he faltered. “Solitude wasn’t about Ulfric, entirely.”

“No, I didn’t think so.” Putting some space between them again, Brynjolf sat and awaited Audric’s long-overdue explanation. “Etienne and I had a little chat. He needed someone to confide in after his...detour through the Embassy.”

_He must’ve overheard things_ , Audric thought, _must’ve put two and two together, once I showed up_. “How long have you known?” he asked.

“A while.” 

“You could have said something,” Audric grumbled.

“I could say the same of you. I wanted you to tell me, yourself.”

Chewing on a few curse words, Audric snapped, “When are you going to start trusting me?”

“When you’ve earned it! When you stop keeping things from me!” Getting to his feet, he rose with his voice. “You’ve been lying to me, like Mercer!”

Audric’s blood ignited and his skin prickled and every muscle in his body coiled for a fight. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ , compare me to that scheming son of a –” stopping himself before he could get out of hand – before his words became Words – he closed his eyes, and forced himself into calm submission. Then, a thought came to him. “You’d have forgiven him,” he croaked.

Brynjolf’s face drained of color. “Excuse me?”

Audric’s chest felt constricted and a cold sweat broke out on his neck. “If Mercer had asked it of you,” he accused, “you’d have forgiven him. If he’d told you, if he’d have asked you to go in on the heist with him...you’d have run off with him so fast, it makes my head spin.”

Rather than scream at him in earnest, as Audric half expected him to, Brynjolf sagged, frowning. “Perhaps, who can say? But he didn’t ask my forgiveness, and he didn’t include me. He lied to me, cheated me and our family, and I can’t forgive that.” 

“I have to go,” Audric whispered. “I’m expected in Windhelm, and there is a carriage waiting for me.”

“Your timing is impeccable.”

“Bryn, please, forgive me.” When this did not satisfy, he elaborated. “Forgive me for lying to you, for leaving  you out of my plans.”

“And?” he asked expectantly. 

“And I’ll never do it again,” he promised. 

Brynjolf pulled him into his arms, nearly crushing him. “I don’t give a damn if you’re Dragonborn,” he said, “I wish you hadn’t tried to keep it from me.” 

“I thought…” Audric choked.

“It makes no difference. But why would you think you could keep such a secret?”

Audric shrugged ineffectually, shaking. 

Brynjolf pulled him closer and said, “Write me from Windhelm.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

An attempt was made at formally welcoming Audric Bellamy into Windhelm. Ulfric had arranged for a fine dinner to be prepared, and had even decided to dress for the occasion. Upon his arrival, Galmar did not bother to disguise his laughter.

“Subtlety might be becoming on you, if only you could fit into it,” Ulfric smiled.

“Not as becoming as you in all this finery,” he gibed. “Is all this for the Breton?”

“That Breton is the reason I’m standing before you at all,” he replied. “The reason you’re not still rotting in a cell.”

The sun had fallen, its bloody light splintering between bare branches. As the world descended into evening, the curtains were opened, allowing the last decaying light of day to flood the palace rooms. When Audric appeared at last, his housecarl at his side, he seemed a shadow of himself. Throughout dinner, he kept quiet, answering questions with stock answers, making little in the way of conversation. He lacked his usual charm, his enthusiasm; he neither quipped nor laughed nor hardly drew slight breath. Rather, he was somber, subdued. Ulfric did not make him sit through dessert.

“You must be tired.”

Audric shrugged, nodded.

“Is there anything you need, apart from a warm bed?”

At last, his lips pulled into a wispy smile. “A hot bath and some fine wine might do it.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

As Audric was shown to the apartments reserved for him, Ulfric looked on, concerned. To anyone else, he might have seemed puzzled or simply occupied, but he was plain as day to his old friend.

“You’re worried about him,” Galmar observed gruffly.

“He was not himself, this evening.”

“It’s a long ride from Riften. Though I’m sure he’s a delight.”

Ulfric snorted. “He can be quite disarming, when he feels up to it.”

“Disarming, eh?” Galmar ribbed him in the side. “I don’t suppose you mean that in the classical sense.”

Miffed, Ulfric’s jaw tightened. “The ‘classical sense?’ Galmar, I think your time with the Imperials has done things for you.” A pause ensued wherein Ulfric wondered if he'd gone too far.

But Galmar did not disappoint. “No more than your time with the Breton has done for you.”

 

 

 

 

 

All the rooms were dark, shrouded nests between slats of stone and wood. Audric sank in the great iron tub, hugging his knees to his chest. He dared tread the edge of sleep, even as the waterline tickled his chin. He retreated within himself, shrinking away from the world, not thinking about all that needed doing. He unfurled and breathed deeply. At last, he immersed himself, coming up for air only once his chest burned. Endeavoring to bathe after nine hours of being rocked and jostled, bumped and lacerated by his own worldly possessions, he gave himself a thorough scrub and soaked his hair not once, but twice. It was not his own soap, however, not his tonics, and he felt out of place.

It was only when the water turned cool and his skin began to rise that he finally got out, swathing himself in a warm, soft robe. And he realized, as he crept carefully into his room, that he was exhausted. He cocooned himself in bed and took to dreaming, safe and warm. His waking life fell, diminished, into the far corners of his mind, and where consciousness dropped off, imagination took up. He dreamed of strong shoulders, a pair of steadfast arms to hold him near; warm breath as it eddied between bodies, a low voice in his ear, like a summer storm.

Audric often dreamed of his lovers, past, present, and potential. He was born to it, after all, that most exquisite sign, more graceful than all others. He dreamed of wet kisses, and sweet touches; he dreamed of push-pull warfare waged in secret, and of covenants forged with skin in the meek light of morning.

Of all mundane pleasures, sex was Audric’s almost-favorite.

He woke in the depth of night, limbs numb with sleep, his cock stiff. Rolling onto his side, he groaned softly into his pillow. Unable to focus his thoughts, his mind flitted across fantasies, but always returning to the object of his dreams: a man, of fair complexion and handsome face, though worn – more with conflict than with age. The details were ambiguous, though, unimportant really, for Audric’s purposes. For all that he couldn’t remember, he more than made up for, imagining wrapping his legs around a sturdy waist, rocking keenly in someone’s lap.

The picture embellished itself, becoming clearer, and Audric’s toes curled and his lip grew sore beneath his teeth and he whined, quickening his hand. He imagined being thrown onto his back, being taken with his legs in the air, under broad muscle and a capable mouth. He longed to be tasted, devoured even. His belly coiled and his head grew light and then his orgasm took him by surprise.

He was already half folded into sleep when he finally tasted a familiar name on his tongue.

In the morning, he didn’t take breakfast. Rather, he slept in, turning over and over in bed, grumbling about the sunlight, about the ache in his neck, about anything he could. But when he could no longer fall in and out of sleep, he lay on his back, squinting blearily up at the high stone ceiling. He tried to remember his dreams, but they evaded him, disappearing into nothingness.

The air was frigid and still; the fire had whittled down in the night, and now nothing but dead ash lay in the grate. Shivering, he crawled out of bed and hurried to find his clothes – tucked neatly into a drawer when he hadn’t been looking, no doubt. He combed his hair and washed his face, but skimped on his usual routine, too restless to be bothered. Instead, he donned his coat and gloves, winding his favorite gray scarf round his neck.

In the narrow hall, Iona caught him by the shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he answered curtly.

“To see?”

“No one.” He kept walking.

“What for?”

“None of your business!” he called cheerily over his shoulder, leaving the chambers behind. Ulfric was not present in the main hall, and Audric was grateful. He could make a secret of his errand, though he’d rather just skip to the part where his sanctimonious host put forth his ire.

Windhelm smelled cold, from the glacial air to the lumbering ice floes to the city’s very walls. Pulling his scarf up over his nose, Audric strode down through the tiers of the Valunstrad. The avenue was brimming, people milling in clumps to keep warm and to gossip; children ran, shrieking and laughing after one another. He strolled leisurely, weaving in and out of the crowd, awash in the smells of firewood and hot food and tobacco smoke.

Then, he turned onto a cramped side street, into the Gray Quarter.

It had come a tremendous way under Brunwulf’s management. The water was cleaner, the air less oppressing, and general habitability was on the incline. The noise was raucous as ever, perhaps more so. Here, the smells turned piquant like spice, and the sounds of food cooking out of doors, of rapid conversations in Dunmeris, overpowered the bland character of Windhelm proper.

“Good afternoon, Ambarys.” Audric sat at the bar.

Turning a sharp eye on this familiar interloper, he said, “You’ve got some nerve, showing up here. You know, the talk around town is that you put Ulfric back on the throne.”

“Is that so? How gracious and incredible of me.” Amused, he pulled out his coin purse. “Now then, a drink, if you please.”

Pulling a polished mug off the wall, Ambarys said, “Far-fetched it might be, but you’re the outlandish sort.” He set down the mug, steaming with something dense and pungent.

“What’s this?” Audric asked, peering at his own reflection, rendered uniformly brown.

“Some strong coffee; it’s a bit early in the day for Mazte.”

Audric drank, and his face went red. Quickly, he shed his coat and nearly tore his gloves off. “Gods, are you trying to poison me?”

“Don’t put it past me,” Ambarys teased. “What are you doing down here in the dregs of the city, anyway? I’d heard you’d moved yourself into the palace, quite neighborly with his High and Mighty –”

“Now, now, before I allow you to interrogate me,” another sip, accompanied by a shock of heat, “I’d like to know how I’ve become the center of gossip.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Ambarys said, “I thought you knew you were the center at which all things revolve.” This earned him an eyeroll and little else. “This storm’s been brewing since Free-Winter received summons to a council in the Rift. Maybe a few weeks before that, there was an inquisition regarding your whereabouts; did some snooping in the Emissary’s diary, did we?”

“How do you know about that?” Audric demanded.

“I didn’t _know_ until just now, but there’s been rumor and hearsay ever since those Thalmor vermin came through asking questions, making threats.” He watched Audric’s face grow pale and added, “Never thinking of the bigger cause, are you.”

“Ambarys, I...I never thought…”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Was anybody...I mean, did they –”

“Did they take prisoners? No. They did put the fear of the et’Ada in us, though.”

“Yes, well…” Eager to change the subject, he said, “It will comfort you to know that Tullius himself sentenced me here to act as officiated tattle-tale.”

“Serves you right.”

“Perhaps.” He drank again, and now the coffee simmered pleasantly.

Words came to a gentle stop, and Ambarys tended to his other patrons. Audric noticed he’d expanded his staff; a pretty Bosmer boy flitted between tables, and a few other Dunmer made rounds from kitchen to counter with finished orders. At some point, Ambarys nudged a plate full of hot food in front of Audric.

“What’s this?”

“Eat. You’re getting thin.”

Audric smiled, thankful, and tucked in. “Could I,” he said, cutting his chicken into neat bites, “I would make you my personal chef.”

“Remember me when you finally manage to get a grasp on your finances, then.”

Once the rush had died down, and only after most people had trickled out of the tavern, Audric brought Ambarys back around for discussion. “Given my profession,” he began, but was interrupted.

“I try not to think about it.”

Clearing his throat, he went on. “I’m sure you understand that it would be...inconvenient, keeping my collateral in the palace.”

“If Stormcloak or one of his lackeys should happen upon your contraband, you mean?” Ambarys chuckled, taking Audric’s empty plate. “Inconvenient for you, yes; wildly entertaining for us. But I can’t put you in touch with anyone; you’re better connected than I.”

“Ah that’s what I came down here to discuss, today.” In a corner, some Dunmer were sharing a pipe of Ampoule and the foul smoke was muddling him. “I wouldn’t trust just anyone with the task, after all. I need someone reliable, someone I can call a friend, someone _nearby_.”

Ambarys frowned and curled his spindly fingers into a fist. “Oh no, not this, not _again_ –”

“But my dear friend—!”

“Isn’t it enough that I guard your wretched horde whenever you decide to go for a jaunt up north? As if I don’t risk my neck as is.”

Putting on his best face, Audric tried to entice him. “I’ll pay you handsomely for your effort.” This was met with a leer, and he clarified, “You know I don’t trade favors for favors, only coin.”

“Coin for favors or favors for coin?” Ambarys countered, cruelly.

“All of the above,” was the guileless answer. “But do this for me, please?”

Annoyed and defeated, Ambarys heaved a sigh. “Very well. There’s an empty chest in the attic; you can rent it, for twenty-five Septims a week.”

“Deal!” Audric offered his hand, which Ambarys declined. Undaunted, he counted out some coin and proffered it. “Here, for the first month.”

Taking the gold and pocketing it, Ambarys snorted. “I don’t know why I continue to allow you to coerce me into these schemes.”

“Because you love me,” he tried.

“I _like_ you; you’re decent enough, for a man.”

“Oh Ambarys,” Audric stood, stretching, cat-like, “you know exactly how indecent I can be.” His scarf shifted and the light was streaming in at just the right angle so as to catch on a pendant he was wearing. It glimmered, silver and noble in the light, its sapphires like bits of fallen sky.

“And I suppose this will be the first of many deposits?” Ambarys said dryly, lifting it with a finger.

As if stung, he shrank back, surprising the elf. “No,” he murmured, concealing it again. “This stays with me.” It was a funny, almost poetic thing, that this – the one possession he least wanted Ulfric to discover – would remain with him, in the palace, at times right under Ulfric's nose.

As in most instances, however, Ambarys was kind enough – or perhaps indifferent enough – not to pry.


	7. Chapter 7

Audric stared blankly at the letter he’d written. It did not look like his handwriting – too neat, too careful – nor did it read like something he’d write. It was his first report, detailing the state of the city, the policy that remained intact – due in large part to apathy, he suspected. It was an impersonal letter. The only thing that had kept him on task was a glance at the other letter he ought to have written...ought to have written at least a week ago. The untouched parchment seemed to mock him from where it lay. It was his not knowing what to say to Brynjolf that had inspired his detached account for Tullius.

Outside, the world was still dark. It seemed that night consumed most of the hours, and Audric began counting the days until they grew lighter again. Abandoning his work, he folded up the letter and sealed it sloppily. He donned his coat and tucked the letter away in an inside pocket. Strapping his knives to his belt, he then hoisted his quiver over his shoulder, securing his bow. He had put this off for far too long. 

The cobbled streets were icy and he slipped on every other step. Snow was heaped on either side of the avenue and he anticipated a fresh fall, if the taste on the air was any indication. 

He was not a religious man, and yet his feet guided him to the temple in the center of town. Restoring it had been one of Ulfric’s first acts in power, and it stood mightier than it ever had. He hoped that should any Thalmor come by, they might be struck dead from angry shock. 

The door was open.

A rich, inviting glow suffused the air, emanating from the shrine. Incense and candle smoke amassed in a wispy fog overhead. The hall was empty, but for a single parishioner, who sat still in the front pew. Audric hesitated, uncertain if he wanted to share this space with this man, or for that matter, if he would be welcome.

If Ulfric knew he was there, he said nothing.

The sound of Audric’s footsteps was swallowed up by the rug as he walked the aisle. Keeping a polite distance, he asked, “May I?”

“Please.”

The two of them sat, swathed in warm light. Ulfric looked tired, the sleeplessness in his eyes extending into the lines on his face. His shoulders hunched, as though strained by an unseen weight. Unseen, perhaps, but understood, between them.

“I did not expect to cross paths with you here,” Ulfric finally murmured.

With a shrug, Audric turned his face to the great stone effigy. “Sometimes, I have questions.” 

“Don’t we all.” Ulfric remained, his head bowed in prayer and fatigue, both of which he bore in silence. In his hand, he clasped a familiar amulet, the diminutive blade of an axe rugged under his fingers. 

Audric realized, belatedly, that he was staring.

Putting the cord back round his neck, Ulfric tucked the amulet out of sight. “What sort of questions?” he asked slowly. “What sort of questions could you have?”

Standing, Audric approached the altar. He suspended a hand in the warmth, inches from the statue. Looking up, he met gazes with unfaltering stone. Unfaltering, unseeing, unburdened… His hand balled into an angry fist, and he tucked it against his side. 

“A blackly funny thing, isn’t it,” Ulfric said gently, “‘ _Why me_?’ we ask ourselves, as the whole world wonders, why not them?” He kept his voice soft, and tried to ignore the ache in his chest. “It is a cruel predicament the Gods put us in.”

“Some more cruel than others,” Audric pointed out. 

Nodding, he said, “Yes. The cruelty of war, in point of fact. I might suggest you take a drink with my soldiers sometime, before you go floundering in self-pity.” He readied himself to leave, though with no intention of returning to sleep. There were papers that needed writing and stratagem that needed planning. 

“I’ve taken more than drink with your soldiers,” Audric hissed. “I know the horrors that haunt them – horrors they carry in your name.” He remembered then, that he was in a temple – a temple to the God of War, no less. “They have seen atrocities the likes of which none of us deserve. But do not deign to use their suffering to take away from the weight in my heart.”

“I did not mean...I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry for my hardship, but for that of your own people,” he spat, contemptuous.

As they left together, Ulfric sighed, his breath dissipating in the cold air. “I am gravely sorry for asking my people to return to war, so soon. But,” he admitted, “it is a more personal cruelty of which I spoke, before.”

Mortified, Audric felt himself go numb. “I…” What, he’d forgotten? “Somehow, I hadn’t thought that…” He was shocked into silence when Ulfric rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. The touch felt oddly intimate, and he was tempted in part to recoil, in part to embrace. 

“No, you are right to think less of me for it; remembering my own trials before those of my people is selfish, shameful.” There was a sadness in his face that transcended the influences of age and jaded nobility. Ulfric, before he had been a king, was a soldier – and not long before that, a young, ingenuous boy. It was easy looking at him now to forget that he hadn’t simply come into existence as a hardened warrior.

“I don’t think,” Audric said carefully, “there is any shame in being selfish.”

Ulfric smiled, wide, and squeezed Audric’s shoulder in his big paw. “No, you wouldn’t.” From his comment or his gesture, it mattered not: Audric’s face felt aflame. “Come, won’t you take breakfast with me before running off to whatever distasteful task you’ll lie to me about later?”

Audric’s stomach grumbled and he was tempted. But, he had procrastinated long enough, and could stand the guilt no longer. “I am sorry, really. But I must leave; I lingered too long in the temple, as it is. And I’ll have you know,” he added defensively, “I’m up to nothing objectionable.”

Ulfric’s brow furrowed. “Really, now?”

Seeing no reason to keep secrets, he decided he would unburden himself. “I must confer with the Greybeards; I need their knowledge regarding a particular Shout, one powerful enough to defeat Alduin.”

Closing his eyes, Ulfric shook his head, sighing. “No, Audric.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t waste your breath on the climb, on the argument that will ensue. Whatever Shout could overpower the World-Eater, the Greybeards won’t know it.”

Audric stood, frozen to the pavement. His face must have shown his anger, for Ulfric removed any contact between them. “How can you be so cynical?” he finally asked.

“Don't pretend to be ignorant to their pacifism. Violence and conquest has never been their way.”

“Are you saying they won’t help? Not one bit?”

“Not that they won’t, but that they can’t. It goes against their noble principles, and you can’t possibly expect any results, not from this fool’s errand.”

Turning his back on Ulfric, he stormed quietly to the city’s edge. He would leave, and he would climb that damned mountain, and he would have his answers one way of the other. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bitterness of disappointment and resentment was second only to the bitterness of the wind’s bite. His hood flapped noisily around his ears and he cursed, squinting through the gale and snow. Oh, he’d learned another Shout, but nothing of use in his pursuit of Alduin – and it had become a pursuit. With time, his heart had grown heavy with purpose, and where once he had felt cold with terror, his veins now burned with an itch for confrontation. No longer did he hide from dragons, nor did he fear their wrath. If he feared anything, it was his own unmitigated fury, a smoldering temper he never knew he possessed.

The sun achieved its height as he crested the last icy ridge. The path was clear of rocks and crevices, and the ice had given way to dry, fluffy snow. Audric hoped that this Paarthurnax would be reasonable with him, that he would at least be more open to discussion than Arngeir. _Though_ , Audric thought, _any man who chooses to live at the top of frigid mountain probably can’t be reasonable_.

The ground leveled beneath his feet, and Audric stumbled forward. Up here, the wind mysteriously dispersed; the sunlight glittered off the snow, nearly blinding him. He peered through the gleam, searching for some remote house, an outpost, anything. But all that rose out of the glare was a towering stone wall.

Audric’s skin crawled and his veins burned with adrenaline. And then he heard it, a great and thunderous roar that shook the air. He drew his sword and waited, tense. But there came no burst of flame or shower of ice. The gust from enormous wings knocked him back, though, and he tumbled into the snow. Before he could get to his feet, the ground trembled and, caught off his guard, Audric resigned himself to his grisly fate.

And yet, no such fate was forthcoming. 

“ _Drem Yol Lok_ , greetings,” its voice rumbled. “I am Paarthurnax.”

Audric bolted upright and stared. Every nerve in his body was singing and a pit of nausea was forming in his gut. 

“Who are you?” Paarthurnax asked patiently. “What brings you to my _strunmah_ , my mountain?” 

At last, he stood and dusted off. He could barely keep upright, but he could at least try to keep up appearances. “I think you know who I am,” he said. “I wasn’t, ah…I wasn’t expecting you to be a dragon.” 

A rich wave of air buffeted him and he had to hold his ground. He realized then, this dragon was _laughing_. “I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you, _Dovahkiin_. Tell me," he said, "why do you come here? Why do you intrude on my meditation?” 

Upon closer inspection, it was plain that Paarthurnax was very old, even by the standards of dragons. His scales were dull; his teeth and spines cracked and broken; he spoke with dignity and grace. And Audric had expected to conquer the mountain and demand his answers! But now he felt small and meek, like his knees might buckle under the absurdity of his quest.

“I need to learn Dragonrend.” He gulped.

Paarthurnax eyed him quizzically through one bright eye. “ _Drem_ ,” he admonished, “patience. There are formalities which must be observed at the first meeting of two of the _Dov_. By tradition, the elder speaks first.” Slowly, he ambled around to face the Word Wall. “Hear my Thu’um!” he roared. “Feel it in your bones, and match it, if you are _Dovahkiin_!” 

The inferno flared, and Audric watched in awe at the terrific sight. But almost as quickly as the panic set in, so did the inevitable longing. 

“The Word calls to you,” Paarthurnax observed. “Go to it.”

Sheathing his sword, Audric clenched his teeth. The pull of power was still as potent as it had been in Bleak Falls Barrow; inexorable and formidable. Slowly, as if to temper himself, he approached the wall, shivering. The Word burned for him, and though he could not take his eyes off it, he still fought, even as it sought him out.

When it was done, he felt weak.

Paarthurnax shifted cautiously behind him. “A gift, _Toor_ ,” he said gently. “Understand fire as the _Dov_ do.” 

Eons of contemplation, of careful observation and trial seeped into his being. It saturated his mind and dissolved into his soul, exciting his blood. Strengthened, somewhat, by this gift, he found his standing and faced his new mentor with resolve. 

“Now, show me what you can do. Greet me, not as mortal, but as _Dovah_.”

_Fire_. The word bubbled up inside of him. Searing, brilliant. It defined itself, first plainly, then more esoteric. Consuming, treacherous, and fierce. At last, he made sense of the savagery of it. 

“ _Yol_!” his voice echoed off the crags, and the stone quivered, threatening to answer back. 

Paarthurnax exulted in the fervor of the Shout. “The dragonblood runs strong in you!” he exclaimed, delighted. “It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind.” 

The gravity of the statement was lopsided for them. Audric felt suddenly arrested inside his own body; his brittle bones, his feeble sinew...it felt wrong. 

The pair sat together for some time, speaking. Audric curled his cloak around himself in the snow while Paarthurnax perched, undaunted by the chill, on the cold stone wall. They spoke at length, of all manner of things, great and small. Perhaps it was the conversation, or perhaps it was some fundamental peculiarity of the _Dov_ , but time lost its virtue and passed unnoticed.

The sun was beginning to sink when Audric thought to ask, “If you cannot know it – if no dragon can know it – how am I to learn Dragonrend?” 

Paarthurnax moved as if the many years of his life weighed physically on his bones. “ _Drem_ ,” he admonished, “all in good time. But a question for you, _Dovahkiin_ : why do you want to learn this Thu’um?”

The question startled him. Why wouldn’t he, after all? The answer seemed obvious. “I need to stop Alduin.” The words left him not slowly, not like a patient explanation to a child, but with conviction that bordered desperation. 

“Yes, Alduin, the elder brother. Gifted, grasping, and troublesome – as is often the case with firstborn.” That he spoke of Alduin as blood alarmed Audric, and he preferred not to entertain the thought. “But why? Why must you stop Alduin?” 

The answer to this question came as easily as to the last, though, brother or not. “I like this world, and I don’t want it to end.” 

“As a good a reason as any,” the dragon agreed. “Many feel as you do, but not all. Some would say that all things must end so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next.” He leaned in, too close for comfort, so that Audric was confronted with his teeth. “Would you stop the next world from being born?”

This question posed a much tougher dilemma than its predecessors. While he was no stranger to existential quandaries, Audric was not the philosophical sort. Much of his childhood had seen him a prisoner of books and study, and as an adult, his appetite for the abstract had soured. But he bade himself think it, think of the Next World: of clear rivers and empty meadows, of sheer cliffsides and rolling hills. Untamed mountains and cavernous gorges; the animals that might be given to roam these familiar landscapes, and the beings that might follow in their footsteps. This of course led him to remember bright holidays, his own sorrows and joys. In an instant, it was as if he could recall every fit of laughter and every anguished cry – his own, and those of his fellows. He thought of his friendships, both fleeting and tested; he thought of sex and the people he’d spent long afternoons and balmy nights and cold mornings with; he thought of his first love, and all the loves that came after.

“The next world will have to take care of itself.”

Paarthurnax blinked at him, almost sadly, he imagined. “ _Paaz_. A fair answer.” After a somber moment, he continued, “But maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world; those who try to hasten the end might delay it; those who work to delay the end may bring it closer. But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough.”

Audric could not help but think the privilege was reciprocal. 

“Now, I will answer your question. Few remember that this – the _Monahven_ – was the very spot where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues.”

Defeat seemed an embellishment, but wisely, Audric kept his mouth shut.

“The Nords used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin, but this was not enough. It was the _Kel_ – the Elder Scroll. They used it to…” he struggled to find the right words, “cast him adrift on the currents of Time. Some hoped he would be gone forever, lost. _Meyye_. I knew better,” he lamented. “Which is why I have lived here; for thousands of mortal years, I have waited. I knew where he would emerge, but not when.”

Frustrated, Audric stood. “How does any of this help me?” he demanded.

“ _Tiid krent_!” was the impatient answer. “Time was shattered here! Because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin! If you brought that _Kel_ back here, to the _Tiid-Ahraan_ , the Time Wound...you may be able to cast yourself back to the other end of the break.”

The ingenuity of it dawned on Audric just as it was presented to him, and he was suddenly very thankful to this strange dragon who had waited on such an opportunity for untold centuries. With veneration and awe, he thanked Paarthurnax, and before it got too frigid, he set off down the mountain.

Though his head was swimming with schemes and his chest felt swollen with dread and anticipation, he made himself take a meal in Ivarstead. Congratulating himself, he took comfort in that it would likely be some time before he located the Elder Scroll that could give him this tool to take against the World-Eater...even if some of that time might need to be facilitated by himself. He managed to wrangle some parchment and a quill from Wilhelm, and in four words scrawled onto it, he created his first diversion.

 

_Meet me at home._

 

With enough coin, he was able to persuade a courier into departing that very evening. 

 

 

 

 

The tips of Brynjolf’s callused fingers teased sensitive skin and Audric squirmed. For his efforts, he was held even tighter. Gently, playfully, he bit the arm that ensnared him. Brynjolf pulled him along as he rolled onto his back; he stroked Audric’s hair, wandering along his shoulders and neck. 

“What’s gotten into you, tonight?” he asked.

Audric chuckled. “Somehow, Bryn, I think you know.”

Brynjolf held him closer and nuzzled his ear. “Tell me, who were you thinking of tonight?”

Affronted, he pulled away. “What?”

“I’m not insulted!” he waved his hands defensively. “Merely curious; you fucked like you were in love.”

Audric turned very red and rolled onto his side, facing away.

Brynjolf snaked a leg over his hip and pinned him, kissing his face. “I bet she’s beautiful.”

Audric huffed.

“Ah, my apologies, that was presumptuous. I’m sure he’s very handsome.” He pinched Audric’s side and didn’t mind too much when he was kicked in retribution. “What’s he like?”

“Damn it, Bryn.”

“Please, it isn’t as if I’m asking you to tell me the details – unless...are there any details?”

Groaning, Audric threw his head beneath his pillow.

“There aren’t! Well that’s new. So are you actually playing hard-to-get for once, or do you suppose your charm has run its course?” he teased. “Oh, but then...he might walk the narrower side of the street, if you catch my meaning.”

Audric sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not pursuing him.”

“Why not?”

“It would get...messy.”

Brynjolf growled and flipped Audric onto his stomach, biting his shoulder. “Messy can be good. But, if you can’t have it, you can always imagine it. So, tell me,” he tried again, “what’s he like?” He kissed Audric’s cheek and grabbed his wrists. “Fair or dark?”

“Fair!” Audric responded well to restraint, and he thought it awfully mean of Brynjolf to use that against him. 

“Hmm, you have a type,” he laughed. “Fair like me?”

“Not quite,” he murmured, “lighter.”

“Is he big?”

Audric rolled his eyes. “He’s a Nord.”

Keeping him pinioned, Brynjolf whispered against his neck, “So, imagine your big, fair, undoubtedly handsome Nord friend, right now, on top of you like I am.” He grinned while Audric whined. “I bet you’d want him to kiss you, huh?”

“Gods, yes.”

“Here?” Brynjolf kissed him lightly on the cheek. He was rewarded with a dissatisfied grumble. “Or perhaps here.” On the corner of his mouth, this time. Audric tried to nuzzle him back but he withdrew. “No, you’re not nearly romantic enough for that,” he declared, and whatever protest had been devised was swallowed as Brynjolf bit Audric’s shoulder. He continued along Audric’s back, zigzagging between shoulder blades, nipping playfully. Then he paused, laying his cheek on warm skin. “How about even lower?”

Audric whined and nodded his head. Shallowly, he panted into his pillow, could smell Brynjolf even on his own breath. He keened when he felt Brynjolf’s tongue on him, pressing too-gently, deliberately not-entering. “You’re cruel, Bryn,” he accused.

“Ah ah, not me. Pretend it’s your mystery beau,” he chortled. His breath was hot but Audric’s skin rose anyway.

For a moment, he stalled. He argued with himself, should he or shouldn’t he? He’d already indulged his imagination a number of times, to great success, but this was different. This was with another person. Not _the_ person but…

Then Brynjolf fluttered his tongue and all his concerns were handwaved.

He gave over to sensation, to the feeling of a warm tongue teasing and testing him. He weakened under big hands and small kisses. He moaned and sighed and nearly tore his sheets to shreds trying not to say anything, because it was one thing to murmur a name out quietly in the dark and alone, but quite another to say it like this.

“I honestly don’t know how he could possibly refuse,” Bryn said, spreading him open, “you’re absolutely irresistible.” 

“I told you – _oh_ – I’m not pursuing him!”

Audric squirmed while two fingers were pressed into him; his cock felt heavy between his legs but his body was still ringing dully from their last round. Nonetheless, he was happy to accommodate whatever he was given. 

“So,” Brynjolf continued his interrogation, “you want to fuck him or for him to fuck you?”

“Both,” he gasped. This was bad. He’d thought of this before, of course, intangibly, all by himself, but now he was speaking of it, to another person. Vaguely and with very little participation, but _still_. He could smell the ale on Brynjolf’s breath as it eddied over his shoulder, could smell the wine on his own as he drowned in it. He smelled sweat as it mingled with cologne and turned poignant. The scratch of stubble on his skin and the scoring of nails along his hips and thighs where he was held in place kept him trapped in sensation, unable to escape his own thoughts.

One of those thoughts was that the sheets in Windhelm were softer than these.

 

*      *      *

 

The call of a loon pierced the even calm of morning. 

Audric splashed his face, crouched on the shore of the lake. He needed a bath, badly, but he would wait until he entered the steaming basin, for it was too cold in Riften and he was too lazy to boil water inside. His flesh rose under the brisk scrutiny of water droplets as they ran down his neck, into his clothes. 

He felt a boot fall gently in the middle of his back, threatening. “You’re up early.”

Turning, he reached behind himself and grabbed Brynjolf’s calf. 

“But then, so am I.” 

Audric stood, gazing out at the misty water. He listened to the wind in the leaves, to the songs of birds, to the crunch of sand under their feet. He listened, and he waited.

“You’re leaving again.”

He looked up. “What are you accusing me of, exactly?”

“Not a thing, lad. Only, I have a parting gift for you, this time.” He pulled a modest wooden box from inside his coat, and proffered it. 

It felt smooth, in hand. It had been sanded well, with care, and the brass hinges gleamed in the dewy first light. The clasp was the most ornate thing about it, and it clicked softly when unfastened. Inside, resting on delicate, green velvet, was a tiny, elegant cuff. Diminutive moons and stars glinted, framed on either side by simple bands. 

“It’s lovely,” Audric smiled. “Who’d you steal it from?”

Brynjolf snorted and removed the cuff from its box. “I didn’t steal it,” he said. “I had it made.”

“You didn’t.”

Moving Audric’s hair out of the way, he fitted the cuff to his ear. “I know you like silver,” he said, “and I hoped it would please you.”

It felt strange, to have something there, new, somewhat painful at first, even. “I love it,” he decided, sliding it up and down the shell of his ear, finding where he liked it, where he didn’t. “But, you really had it made?”

“Take a peek at Madesi’s books, if you think me a liar.”

“Never a liar,” Audric kissed his mouth, “only sly, sometimes.” Wrapping his arms around Brynjolf’s neck, he stretched onto his tip-toes and said, “That’s just an occupational hazard, though.”

He was rewarded with a deep and visceral chuckle, one he could feel in his own chest. 

“So, how long this time?” Brynjolf walked alongside him to the stables. 

“I don’t know. I did take work from Vex though, so I’ll have excuse to come back quick enough.”

Brynjolf frowned. “How much of this is dragon business, and how much of this is politics?”

A hard lump took shape in Audric’s stomach. “I don’t think I want to speak with anyone about ‘dragon business.’” He hadn’t spoken of his search for the Elder Scroll, not yet. He had contingencies to plan and stories to contrive, as of yet. 

“And no one really wants to speak of politics, do they?” Brynjolf tried to tease.

Audric was being unfair. But Brynjolf forgave it because of his age. Whenever Audric was unfair or impatient or demanding, Brynjolf always forgave him, always shrugged it off and pointed at how young Audric was. It made him bristle most days, but at this very moment, he was grateful, however bitterly.

“I'll come back though, I promise.”

“I know you will. Just, write me a whole letter this time, alright?”

Audric laughed. “Fair enough.”

Brynjolf watched him disappear through the fine mist at a hard gallop. And he thought it strange, to see Audric Bellamy in such a hurry.

 

*      *      *

 

Audric had turned the horse loose in the basin; it knew the way back, he was sure. 

The air here was humid, rife with steam and hot sun and bugs; a brief reprieve from the bite of Skyrim’s autumn. He groaned, easing himself into the scalding water of the springs, his skin tingling with pleasure and pain all at once. Once he was waist-deep, he splashed the water onto his forearms, onto his chest, trying to accommodate the heat. Everything was hot or cold in this place, too much or not enough, always. When he was ready to submerge himself, he removed his favorite silver necklace, and remembered to remove his new cuff, too. A nice coincidence, that they matched.

He floated on the water, the warmth of the sun on his face, the warmth of the spring buoyant beneath his back. Sometimes he closed his eyes, but never for too long. He could hear men shouting to one another in the distance, the faint echo of iron picking at rock. Occasionally, the water would ripple as a mammoth ambled by. He often wondered at this strange place; the Imperial City, Sentinel, even Wayrest...these had all felt like visits, brief flirtations with the land and its people. Skyrim was something else. He felt strong, here, rooted to the earth, no matter how far he wandered. Amongst these Nords and their quaint talk of honor and glory, Audric knew he should feel out of place, but instead, he had found a home.

When he dressed, he strapped his armor into place, to lighten the load. He tried not to hasten, and failed spectacularly. It was still light when he stopped in Kynesgrove for a bite to eat and to lift some coin. 

The great stone buttresses, shining with ice, came into view in no time at all.

Guards eyed him spitefully as he passed, for many of them hadn’t forgotten the conditions of his first visit to the city. He fondled the silver pendant that sat warm on his chest, imagining that the sapphires retained more heat than they could. What had possessed him to break into the palace that evening, he still couldn’t say, and even he questioned his audacity to go rummaging through the possessions of a king. 

He was sitting at the bar in the Cornerclub when the messenger arrived.

A woman stood nervously in the door; there was a silence as many pairs of eyes – none of them human – rested on the intruder, but soon enough the rumble of conversation rekindled and even the howl of the wind was drowned out. However, someone did take the liberty of shouting, “Shut the damn door!” once some of the snow and cold began to drift inside.

It was a guard, whom Audric recognized; he beckoned her to sit with him but as if from thin air, Ambarys appeared and hissed at him to take his company elsewhere. 

“The poor girl’s uncomfortable enough, can’t you –?”

But, as it turned out, he couldn’t. “No, no no, it’s bad enough I allow you in here, I’ll not have any more men, else they’ll start turning up one after the other!”

“She’s not men,” Audric smiled.

“Out!” Ambarys exclaimed. “That's all I need, your pheromones stinking up the place!”

“You like my ‘pheromones’ though,” he teased. When Ambarys made a rather rude gesture, he rolled his eyes. “Okay, alright, we’re going.” 

Once they were outside, Bryher addressed him. “To be honest,” she shivered, “I’m more comfortable out here than in there.”

With a shrug, Audric offered her his fur. She turned him down, and he was silently grateful. “So, what are you doing down here, then?”

“Looking for you, actually. Word got around you’d returned, and Jarl Ulfric sent for you, maybe an hour ago.” Folding her arms, she drew her blue cloak more tightly against herself. “He said that it’s urgent.”

“It’s urgent,” he repeated, skeptically. Breathing on his hands and rubbing them together, he nodded at the Cornerclub and said, “They’ve got this great drink, it’s called Sujamma, I could probably go back and –”

“I really think you should go up to the palace, and meet with the Jarl, Dragonborn.”

“Maybe I have my own urgencies.”

Her cheeks went from chilled pink to very, very red. “Well,” she said, licking her lips, “I think that it’s a matter of priorities.” Audric watched her tuck a dark braid behind her ear. “If, after you speak with Jarl Ulfric, you still have matters to tend to, I don’t have any of that Sujamma, but I might have a bottle of spiced wine.”

“Excellent,” he clapped his hands together. “And stop it with this ‘Dragonborn’ nonsense, it grates.”

She smiled, showing a row of big teeth. “Alright then, Audric. Be seeing you later.”

The cold air was sobering, but that only irritated him. He had a lot on his mind and a few hours to unwind and forget his cares seemed a small luxury, something that could be afforded. By the time he arrived in the palace, he was fuming. He rounded the corner of the hall, expecting to pound down Ulfric’s door, but it was already open for him. Ulfric was seated at a small table, the glow of an immense fire bathing him in its warm light. 

Audric stood still, a bit stunned. Then he remembered his anger. “You sent for me,” he snipped. “Now here I am.”

Ulfric regarded him with unease. “Sit,” he offered warily.

“Oh! ‘Come,’ ‘sit,’ what shall it be after this? Roll over?”

Ulfric stared into his eyes for a moment, examined his posture. At last, he leaned into his chair and said quietly, “You’ve been drinking.”

“Yes, and I intend to drink more still, before the night is out.”

Nodding, Ulfric said, “This is a matter of importance. Perhaps we should reconvene tomorrow.”

“No, not at all!” Belligerently, he shut the door and yanked out a chair. “Bryher said it was urgent. You called and I came, now tell me: what is so urgent?”

Again, Ulfric gave pause. “Bryher?” he asked, at length.

“Yes, the woman you sent for me, she has a name, you know.”

“I do...though, not as well as you, apparently.”

Audric grinned. “No, I rather doubt that.”

Inhaling slowly, searching himself for reserves of patience, he handed a neatly folded letter across the table. “I’m concerned with other names,” he said. Audric looked at the words, was able to pick out bits and pieces but his addled brain refused to make sense of them. “It’s from Tullius. The Embassy is mad with panic, now that I’m back in power. We need to respond, quickly.”

Then, a name on the page jumped out at him. “Elenwen,” he murmured.

Ulfric nodded, tight-lipped and jaw clenched. 

“So what are we to do?” He flopped back in his chair and nearly tipped.

“Well, I would suggest you make an early night of it, because we leave at first light for a meeting. Can’t be too wary of spies and gossips.” Allowing his jealousy to ripen and rot, he amended, “Or, go on and drink and fuck as you please. I can’t say I wouldn’t relish your hangover.”

Audric stared at him through his inebriated haze, and he wondered, “Or wouldn’t you relish my company?”

There was so much to be done. So much to be done and to be considered and to be weighed in decision. And yet, in spite of all that, Ulfric’s mind remained on this small, irreverent Breton. Disreputable and unscrupulous though he was, he held a charm and allure and a degree of intrigue for Ulfric. He presented himself, perhaps unknowingly, as a dilemma, wrapped in complexities that contradicted all he knew to be honorable and good.

Counting on the booze to inhibit Audric’s memory, he answered, “You are the most appealing puzzle I have to solve, but you are not the most important.” 

The fire cracked loudly in the ensuing silence, while the wind shrieked outside, shaking the windowpanes. 

At last, Audric stood and sauntered around the table, bumping his hip against a corner and swearing. His hand landed on Ulfric’s shoulder to steady himself, but never left. He leaned in, his breath hot and spiced, his eyes bright with drunken resolve. “I am not your puzzle,” he said, squeezing Ulfric’s shoulder, “and I am nobody’s prize.” There was a moment where he lingered, and nearly fell into Ulfric’s lap, but caught himself in time to regain equilibrium. 

The words burned through Ulfric as fire burns through dry wood, voracious and volatile. He was left to smolder with them, while Audric found Bryher in the barracks.


	8. Chapter 8

Ulfric afforded himself a chuckle at Audric’s expense while he watched the tiny Breton struggle into the saddle of an exceptionally tall horse. Of course, he’d seen him vault a dragon before, but this morning, Audric was succumbing to exhaustion and dehydration and general crankiness and was in no mood to be performing acrobatic feats. And even though the sunlight had barely breached the horizon, he kept his hood tugged low over his eyes. He rode not with Ulfric and his officers, but instead up front with the escort. He smiled and joked with those he knew, and he listened more than he spoke with those he didn’t.

“Eyes on the road,” Galmar grumbled, “don’t want to be taken by surprise, if we can help it.”

Yrsarald snorted. “I think Jarl Ulfric’s already quite taken, and it is a surprise.”

The two of them snickered like young boys while Ulfric suffered in what he hoped was dignified silence. Still, it was difficult not to glance up every so often to see Audric slumped on his horse or nodding thoughtfully in conversation or making wild hand gestures while he spoke. ‘Taken’ was not the word for it. Fond, though…he had become fond of this man, Divines help him.

They did not stop to eat, only pulled food out of their bags and shared amongst themselves as they traveled. Predictably, Audric ran out of water before anyone else and had to leech off of his companions, but he was in no short supply of volunteers.

When he finally decided to hang back, Ulfric asked him, “How’s your morning treating you?”

Audric smirked. “Not nearly as well as last night, I’ll give you that.”

Well, he couldn’t begrudge him a good time, he supposed. “You’re in poor condition for meeting with Tullius. I hope he doesn’t see you and decide to put us both in irons.”

“That would be sort of a lost cause, don’t you think?” He waited, but got no answer, and foolishly kept talking. “You know something, I think you’re jealous.”

Ulfric’s skin went hot and he could practically feel other ears straining to pick up this conversation. “Oh?” was all he offered.

“And you do realize that you could probably have just about anyone you wanted, right?” he asked. Something in his voice was calculative, like he was testing Ulfric. “People look up to you, they idolize you. Bryher probably would have liked the chance to get in bed with her Jarl.”

Ah. So that’s what it was, then. “I’m castigated as often as I am idolized, and besides, it’s unwise to get into an inequitable bed.”

Audric grinned. “I want to talk about bed and you want to talk sense. I’m hardly surprised.” He took off, galloping ahead a bit. But Ulfric strongly suspected that was because he didn’t want the discussion to get too serious. For if equity was the question, who exactly was equal to a king?

“He’s a surprisingly fine rider,” Ulfric observed, watching Audric slow up by a sign post to wait.

There was a moment of tense silence before Galmar said, “And I’m sure at least half of the guard could confirm it.”

Mistwatch had been reclaimed some months ago by the Legion and was now abuzz with activity. The clang of hammer on anvil echoed for miles around and the smell of scorched steel wafted up over the hills. When the retinue from Windhelm came through the gates, they were met mostly with impassivity, though a few fists tightened around weapons and a few sets of eyes squinted in suspicion. They were greeted by a stocky man in rugged officer’s armor, who introduced himself as a commander; he shook hands with Ulfric with too much force to be entirely believed. Audric laughed himself into a fit of hiccups.

The keep was still being restored, but it was mostly clean and comfortable, with a only a bit of a draft to deal with. When his guards were shown to their bunks and Audric trotted along behind them, Ulfric cleared his throat and shook his head. “You aren’t staying here.”

Perplexed, Audric raised his brows. “Am I to be put out at night? At least do me a favor and leave a nice, warm steak out there for me.”

Ulfric heaved a sigh and threw an arm around Audric’s slender shoulders, guiding him away. “You’re practically an officer, improbable as that may be. You needn’t sleep on a glorified bail of hay.”

Audric rolled those words around in his head for a while, bemused. “Officers needn’t sleep on hay bails, but soldiers must? Well,” he said evenly, “that’s interesting.”

Unable to drum up a proper answer, Ulfric simply said, “And so, when I want to talk about bed, you want to talk sense.” His mouth twitched; he wasn’t sure if he risked a smile.

They stopped just outside a pair of heavy, wooden doors. The commander showed them through, revealing an expansive room with neat beds — real beds — all partitioned with decent screens. There were even modest end tables for belongings to be tucked in.

Inelegantly, Audric flopped onto a bed in the center of the room. It was not large, but the sheets were cotton and the mattress stuffed with down. The frame did not squeak. “I could sleep on straw for a few days,” he said to no one in particular. “I’ve slept on worse for longer.” He watched out of the corner of his eye as Ulfric pulled up a chair.

“Why is that, I wonder,” he said.

Folding his arms behind his head, Audric basked in Ulfric’s gaze. He kicked his boots off and listened to the satisfying ‘fwump’ as they hit the carpet. “Because I’m a thief.”

Several men in the room turned disapproving eyes on him, and a few cast imploring looks at Ulfric, Yrsarald and Galmar among them.

“You ride too well for a common thief,” Ulfric said in hushed tones, ignoring Audric’s impudent grin. “You speak too well, fight too well, for a common thief.”

Evasive as ever, he responded, “I’d like to think I’m not exactly common.”

“I don’t think you are. I think your world is much bigger than shadowed alleyways.”

Audric closed his eyes. He might have looked restful, if his jaw hadn’t been so tight. “It isn’t smaller or bigger,” he said. “Just, different.”

“How —”

“I’m done with this conversation,” he announced, then sat up and forced his feet back into his still-tied boots before storming quietly off.

Ulfric considered following him, but Galmar staid him with a hand on his shoulder. “Why do you trust him?” he asked.

For a moment, he was lost in thought, remembering the nerves and paranoia that had plagued him after he’d sent his missive for Audric, remembering the fear that at any day, he would be ambushed by the local guard in the basement of Honeyside, remembering his own embarrassed astonishment when those fears were for naught, remembering how committed Audric had been to making good on his promises. And though he needn’t have, he stayed long after. It was clear to Ulfric that for the most part, Audric did as he pleased, no more and no less.

“I trust him because I had to, once.”

“But you don’t, now, not anymore. You aren’t bound to him, Ulfric.”

Frowning, Ulfric looked over his friend, at his trusted generals. “He is Dragonborn; we are all bound to him, in one way or another.”

Audric sat on a ledge, dangling his feet in the warm spring water. His skin was an angry red, but he didn’t care to step out just yet. He smoked some tobacco he’d bought off of a fellow at the Cornerclub; it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great. Smooth, but a little bitter. He stared off into the basin, daydreaming about just taking off. Nothing was stopping him, really. He was well within his rights to up and leave. And besides, he had an Elder Scroll to find.

But, ditching Ulfric to deal with Tullius seemed cruel, and ditching the company to deal with Ulfric thereafter seemed even crueler. Besides, he couldn’t imagine that King and General would ever come to a decent conclusion left to their own devices.

 _If I am the voice of reason_ , Audric stood, shaking the water off of his toes, _Divines save us all_.

He walked barefoot back to the fort, scrambling up craggy outcroppings, digging his toes into the stone and dirt. He’d heard the commotion of Tullius’ arrival several hours ago, but had left himself out of the reception. He’d rather just waltz into the tail end of it for the food and maybe something to drink.

The place was quiet, as men settled in for the evening. He dawdled at the stairwell that would take him to the chamber he’d been shown earlier, where Ulfric and Galmar and all the rest were probably sleeping, now. Then he turned and gazed at the moonlight that fell on the cold stone in a sliver from a door left ajar. Through that door, he might find company, if not familiar then at least less inclined to smother him in his sleep. Though, trust might beget trust. Still, there were an awful lot of valuables to be pawed through up there… But no; if he wanted this to work — if he wanted to see the Thalmor pushed out of Skyrim — he had to learn to trust and be trusted. He had to reign himself in a little.

Grumbling under his breath, he resigned himself to a night alone and trudged up the stairs.

Two of the beds were empty: his own, and the one beside it, which Ulfric had claimed. He thought about this as he stared blankly at the screen that separated them. He wondered where Ulfric had gotten to, as he shucked his armor and peeled off his clothes. He couldn’t be bothered with modesty; it was too humid in this place, and he doubted these old soldiers would take offense.

He was almost asleep when the door creaked open again. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, barely breathed as he listened. Heavy footsteps — Ulfric’s, no doubt — fell across the floor. The wooden frame of his bed protested under the sudden weight, but it took him. Audric listened sleepily to the unfastening of buckles and the hiss of leather as it was removed and discarded; belts, boots, bracers. He listened to Ulfric grunt to himself as he fought with small buttons and leather ties.

He turned onto his belly and tried not to think about it while sleep overcame him.

  
  
  


Angrily, grumpily, he woke with the other men. A hand was on his bare shoulder, shaking him. “Okay, alright, I’m up!”

There was some soft laughter, but no further comment.

Audric grumbled, pulling on a fine pair of pants. Gazing around the room, he noticed the other men taking stock of their valuables, some less subtly than others. It amused more than it offended.

Once dressed, he followed his nose into a large chamber, full of long tables and occupied by loud babble, conversations indistinguishable from one another. Taking a seat crammed between a few friends, he tucked into breakfast without a word. The food wasn’t terribly good, but neither was it just plain terrible; it was hot and filling and it tasted okay. The only conversation he made was to beg around the table for coffee.

Ulfric never made himself known, but neither did Tullius, Audric noticed. Spitefully, he imagined them with chicken and cream and fresh greens on their plates, settled into arm chairs while the rest of everyone else hunched on uneven wooden benches over bland oats and buttered bread.

 _You could have nice food too_ , the thought crossed his mind. But then, for someone who showed an immense lack of integrity, he would have felt bad taking a good meal while his friends were left to gruel.

After breakfast, he was herded away, up the stairs and into a large room, furnished plainly, a big table plastered with papers and maps. Tullius stood by a window, hands clasped behind his back, seeming to stare into the yard, which was loud with shouting and steel clamoring on steel. Ulfric shifted in his seat, turning to watch Audric pass through the archway.

“So, you decided to grace us with your presence after all,” he drawled. “Late, to no one’s surprise less than my own.”

Falling into a chair, Audric let the words roll off of him. “I didn’t realize I was such an imposition.”

“An imposition as much as you are a commodity.” Tullius turned.

Reaching into a pocket, Audric produced a file and began tending to his nails. “How fortunate for me,” he sneered.

The talks were long and went in circles, mostly just Tullius and Ulfric snipping at one another, shooting down ideas on principle rather than pragmatism. Audric was satisfied, for the moment, to watch them go round with each other, mostly because it didn’t matter what conclusions — if any — were reached that afternoon. None of the other Jarls had arrived yet, and this was not the kind of decision to leave them out of.

“And what does the petty thief think?” asked Yrsarald from his corner.

The room went quiet, except for the sounds of the outside, and of Audric filing his nails.

He considered this. He wondered if he remained silent, if the conversation might just pick right back up without him, forgetting him.

“Yes,” Ulfric turned to him, cool eyes boring into his. “What does the Dragonborn think we should do?”

Audric hissed as he hit his cuticle. “The Dragonborn thinks you should all shut up and stop bickering amongst yourselves.” Nobody laughed, though a low, angry murmur went through the other men like a wave. “Thalmor forces are not invincible,” he continued, as if he couldn’t hear the curses and the insults. “They could not even seize divided Hammerfell. But give it time, as you are, and they will gather their strength.”

“They’re only curs!” exclaimed Galmar.

“Oh, is that so? Maybe they are curs, but they’re curs with industry and foot soldiers to best some of our generals, with centuries of strategic experience. I look around this room and all I see are curs with overworked smithies, dull iron, and arrogance.”

He had to be walked out of the room, after that. Tullius escorted him to the top of the tallest tower, where he sagged against the stone.

“Hot-headed and proud, the lot of them,” observed Tullius.

Audric chewed on this. “I invited that uproar, and don’t mistake me, I enjoyed it.” Among all of those angry, insulted Nords, though, only Ulfric had remained seated and silent. And yet, from the coldness of his eyes, Audric got the impression that he was more angry and insulted than the rest of them put together.

“They think they’re the only ones in Tamriel impacted by the Concordat,” said Tullius. “They seem to have forgotten about the shrines ripped out of the temples in Cyrodiil, about the families torn apart by Justiciars. They’re short-sighted and stubborn.”

“Well,” Audric reasoned, “there’s probably something especially insulting when the God in question was once one of your own people.”

Slowly, Tullius turned his eyes on him. He looked speculative; he knew what he wanted to say, clearly, but not if he ought to say it. “Did you know that there is debate, over the origins of the man Talos?”

Audric frowned. “No, I didn’t.”

Still contemplative, Tullius looked at the crumbling cement beneath his feet, piecing his words together. “You see, the Nords like to claim he was one of their own, that he came from Atmora — which, by the time of Talos’ record in history, was completely uninhabitable.”

“You don’t say. So he was a Nord from Skyrim, not from Atmora. That only rubs salt in the wound, I imagine.”

“Some say he was a Nord from High Rock — or, not even a Nord at all.”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back, Audric tried to keep his unease to himself. “A Breton,” he said skeptically.

“Of course, it’s all speculation. No one can really know who or what Talos is or was.”

Then, the loud, unskilled blare of a horn interrupted them. The two men watched as a neat cavalcade came lumbering up the road. A handful of men marched on foot while two figures rode amongst them on horseback. Audric squinted until he recognized someone.

“Balgruuf!” he exclaimed.

“It’s about damn time,” Tullius grumbled.

  
  


They could hear chairs scraping and the rumble of voices upstairs as the talks waged on. But Audric couldn’t make out which voice belonged to whom from under layer upon layer of stone and mortar, and he had no interest anyway, so he turned his face into Ralof’s bare chest and murmured nonsense.

“Do you think we’re missed?” Ralof asked, amused.

“I don’t know,” sighed Audric. “But I missed you; what took you so long?”

Frowning, he tightened his arm around Audric. “It isn’t as if you rushed to give me the news.”

“That’s true.”

Ralof had been in tow of Balgruuf’s entourage, having finally gotten wind of Ulfric’s return to power, out in the middle of his woods. Audric had made a show of welcoming him back into the world, and not entirely for his own benefit, either. Even as he lay beside his friend, basking in the heat of his body, his thoughts wandered upstairs.

There was a slow, rumbling trickle of footfalls above them, around them, as the meeting seemed to have exhausted itself. Ralof held him close, even as he fell into sleep, but Audric grew restless. Carefully, quietly, he removed himself from under his friend’s arm and tucked the linens over his chest. Without waking him, Audric placed a kiss goodnight on his forehead.

He found Ulfric loitering in a nearby corridor.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said.

Ulfric looked perplexed for a moment. “Would you believe it was a coincidence?”

“I’d believe it was luck. In any case,” he did his best not to turn red, “I could use a scrub before sleep. It’s dark out, and I don’t trust my reflexes. Come with me?”

Ulfric’s age showed on his face, not so much in lines and wear as in careful calculation. He thought before he spoke, far too much. “Alright,” he agreed, “but only so long as you allow me to recap the meeting for you, since you were too busy to attend.”

“Is that a grudge I hear in there?”

“Not at all. I think…”

When the pause stretched into silence too long for Audric’s comfort, he said, “Go on, say it: you were better off for it.”

“Your opinions have a way of bringing a room to boil.”

Outside, the noises of night surrounded them; Secunda was high in the sky and Masser tried to keep up. “Have you considered that perhaps it isn’t my opinions, but Nord pride that really drives the nail into things?” Audric was out of his clothes, wading into the warm water; he could feel Ulfric’s eyes on him. “Or maybe you don’t appreciate me all that much,” he teased.

His eyes falling to where the waterline hovered around Audric’s naval, Ulfric said, “I appreciate you well enough.”

Audric had his bath and there was no interruption of man or beast. He and Ulfric talked politics a little, but mostly they talked nonsense. Audric asked what growing up in High Hrothgar had been like, and was pleasantly surprised to find out that Ulfric had been a bit of a troublemaker.

“You did not,” he laughed, hearing that Ulfric had concocted a rather vulgar Shout to graffiti the courtyard stone.

“It was only the once,” said Ulfric defensively, his cheeks pink. “Besides, it faded…eventually.”

The earth trembled suddenly, and the air rushed, knocking them both forward; Audric was dumped into the water and Ulfric landed on his hands and knees. Grabbing his axe, Ulfric looked on in awe and mounting fear as a humongous shadow tore through the night. The dragon, silhouetted against the ruddy moonlight, circled around once, twice, and then let out a tremendous roar before disappearing past the horizon.

Audric was standing again, squinting into the dark, his entire body tensed. There was a fire that glinted in his green eyes as he watched the dragon, and it burned so strongly that it didn’t matter that he was standing naked and wet in the dark; packed tightly into that lean frame of bone and sinew, there raged a beast.

Still, when Ulfric came to his senses, he averted his eyes.

Once he was wrapped up in a towel, Audric threw his things over his arm and began the walk back up to Mistwatch. The path was winding and narrow, and the dirt and rubble slid easily underfoot, making it treacherous. Several times, he had to count on Ulfric to keep him upright.

“So then,” he whispered, once they had returned to their quarters. “You never did give me the end of the story; what’s the plan?”

“Tullius has it on good authority that Elenwen won’t risk putting sensitive information about the political situation — or you — into writing. She intends to run back to Summerset, and soon.”

“Alright, then how do we stop her?”

“Well,” and Ulfric felt like a cynical old man, truly, “Tullius believes that he can take her on the ocean.”

“Tell me you’re joking.” Ulfric gestured for him to bring his voice back down and he murmured an apology. “But he can’t! They won’t stand a chance! There’s no way the Thalmor will allow an Emissary to travel on a foreign vessel, and they certainly won’t be sending a lonesome cargo ship for her!”

“No, indeed.”

“Well if either of you have a better idea,” Tullius rose from his bed, looking irritated, “speak, why don’t you.”

Startled at having been found out, the two men stood in silence for a moment. Then, unsurprisingly, Audric found words.

“You can’t pull this off,” he said gravely. “Not with the entirety of your navy.” Stepping into some sleep clothes, he added, “To take on a Thalmor fleet, with all their battlemages and ancient tacticians and frankly, better sense…this is folly.”

“And? Do you suppose any of us stand a chance against Herself in single combat? Or even in a field skirmish, us against her little henchmen?”

“No, not exactly.”

Ulfric watched this debate with interest from the sidelines. He had to admit, he admired Tullius’ resolve, even if it was complete lunacy. Resilience in the face of certain defeat, that was something he could respect.

“I’ll tell you what,” Audric clapped a hand on the general’s shoulder. “You take your men, and Ulfric takes his, and I take a few of mine, and we ransack the place.”

“Ransack the Embassy?” Ulfric and Tullius demanded in unison, pausing to frown at one another after.

“There’s more than enough of us to take them, all together. And besides,” he added conversationally, “you have me.”

Ulfric looked skeptical, but Tullius appeared receptive. “And what kind of maneuver would you propose?”

By this time, Yrsarald and Galmar had woken from the commotion and had come to investigate. Their eyes shifted warily between Imperial General and Thief.

“Let Ulfric lead the Thalmor out; let him take a handful of soldiers in Stormcloak colors — not enough to be overwhelming, but enough to intimidate — and draw out the ranks in the front. Thinking they have the upper hand, they will rush the brigade, and then, from some hidden spot behind, the rest of the battalion can come screaming out.”

“Oh, I’m sure you think that’s very clever,” Tullius mocked, tired and not at all happy at being challenged. “But the Thalmor still have the advantage of numbers, and of the hill.”

“Ah, I’ve thought of that. See, you and your men will take formations of three: two pockets of archers and footmen, to close the enemy in from behind, and then a third sect to fence off the entrance to the Embassy, and to catch any reinforcements.”

Tullius was nodding, now. “But what of Elenwen? We can’t expend all of our resources dispersing her guard only to allow her to escape in the chaos.”

Audric smiled grimly. “That’s where I come in.”

“What?”

Audric turned, alarmed by Ulfric’s outburst. Joining him in his bewilderment were Ulfric’s right-hand men.

“It’s a dangerous mission, but he broke into Castle Dour, didn’t he?” Tullius jumped to Audric’s defense.

“Have you no concern for your pawns, general?”

“I’m a knight, at least,” Audric interjected sourly.

“About as much as you do for yours,” Tullius answered. “You’re willing to sacrifice your men and women to the Thalmor — out of a grudge or honor, I can’t tell — but you’d spare this single Breton? Why?”

“It isn’t a question of numbers, it’s about proximity!” he insisted. “My soldiers are well trained, and those Thalmor lapdogs don’t stand a chance. But Bellamy would be strolling right into the lion’s den!”

“I won’t go alone,” Audric said, laying a reassuring hand on Ulfric’s arm, but Ulfric pulled it back.

“And will that help be there to back you against Elenwen?” he spat the name as if it were foul poison.

Audric remained silent, but he knew that Ulfric knew he would never endanger his friends’ lives. They might be allowed to follow him in, but only so far. He couldn’t leave margin for error, not after finding Etienne, not after reading about the fate of a young Ulfric.

“Well let me ask you this, Dragonborn: do you intend on walking in through the front door?”

“Hardly. You see, there is more than one way to skin a skeever.” He had debated about whether or not to tell anyone about this, but it would seem that now, his hand was being forced. “There is another way in, a secret way.”

“I’ve never seen such a thing,” Tullius crossed his arms.

“I hope you never do; it’s where they dump the bodies.” He watched with an ounce of morbid satisfaction as the general flinched. “There’s a small cave mouth behind the Embassy, carved into the hillside. It’s easy to overlook, and I wouldn’t have imagined they were connected besides.”

“So, Ulfric causes a diversion, I take up the defense, while you go in and take on Elenwen, is that right?”

Audric nodded.

“Brilliant, we can save valuable time and resources.”

While the men settled back into bed, only to chatter with each other about the revised plan, Ulfric hauled Audric out of the room by his arm. It ached where his fingers had dug into it.

“What’s your problem?” Audric demanded. “I thought you’d be chomping at the bit to wash your hands of the Thalmor in Skyrim! Elenwen in particular.”

“All of your elaborate tactics aside, you don’t honestly believe you will defeat her, do you?” The lines in Ulfric’s face were pronounced by his desperate expression, and his eyes were wet. “You are a single man.”

“Where's your faith in the Dragonborn, now?” he asked, perhaps meanly.

“Your blood might be that of a Dragon, but your bones are mortal.” Ulfric held him in an urgent, unwavering gaze. “She will break your body.”

Remembering what he'd seen in the dungeon beneath the Embassy, Audric tried not to shudder. “Then I shall have to make sure that I catch her first,” he breathed.

 

*      *      *

 

After trekking through the blizzard outside, stepping into the Frozen Hearth felt like coming into the warm arms of a loved one. Audric had been trudging through snow and gale for too long; a hill that should have taken perhaps an hour to crest had taken several, as he’d had to dismount his horse and lead it against the wind. Peering around the Inn, he noticed Enthir was not here as he’d promised, and for the most part, Audric was relieved. He was exhausted from the trip and didn’t mind the opportunity to prolong getting his hands on that Elder Scroll. He leaned into the table and had a few cups and some hot food. He didn’t mind spending the coin, and he knew Dagur and Haran needed it. He fed himself well, and in spite of the straw mattress and drafty windows, he slept even better.

In the morning, the snow had at last stopped.

Of course, thought Audric bitterly, I knew I should’ve stayed the night in Windhelm. He had left Mistwatch the morning after he’d hatched his plan with Tullius, leaving the General to sort out the particulars and smooth things over with the Jarls. He supposed he ought to have waited in Windhelm anyway, since the weather had made no secret of its intentions. But then he would have risked running into Ulfric and, if it came right down to it, he might just take the Elder Scroll first.

Things were getting…tense, between them. Mostly he vented his frustrations by making passes at Ulfric, who would respond either with clever rejoinders or dumbstruck stoicism. It was infuriating, mostly because Audric could not tell what kind of game the man was playing — that was, if he was playing one at all. For all he knew, Ulfric thought him a young fool, and only indulged him long enough to amuse himself. Normally, Audric was content — happy, even — to be a thing of amusement, but not this time. Whatever he was doing, it needed to come to an end.

“Well, you look resigned to your fate.”

Audric blinked, snapped from his reverie, and found that Enthir was sitting beside him.

“I think if you stare at that wall any harder, you might bore a hole right through it.”

“Oh stop. And, you’re late.”

Enthir took a long swig from a steaming mug. “Got delayed by the weather, as you should have been. Did you really travel all the way through that squall? Isn’t there some fancy word or other in the Dragon tongue to simply bend the weather to your will?” he teased.

“No, not exactly.” Audric didn’t mean to be snippy, but he was annoyed with himself for having come through the storm and for being caught thinking about Ulfric. “Shouts are difficult, they require energy.”

“And I suppose you’d spent yours long before you arrived, hm? Give the next whore my regards.”

“Don’t be jealous, it shows your age.”

Enthir and Audric were friends, and very good business partners, but there was a thin layer of bitterness beneath their affection; Enthir had come onto Audric almost immediately, and Audric had turned him down. Still, they managed a close friendship, and Audric often felt safe coming to him for advice, which was why he was here at all.

“So, what brings you up here in a storm?”

“Well, your irresistible charms, and your infallible knowledge. What do you know about the Elder Scrolls?”

Enthir let the barb about his charms go, and scrutinized Audric over the flickering candlelight. “I don’t have whatever information you’re looking for, but I know a place that does. Come on, we’d better get up to the Arcanaeum.”

“I…I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think I’m exactly…comfortable…up there…”

“Don’t worry about it, stick by me and no one will say anything.”

Audric sighed and stood. “They don’t have to.”

He was a piss-poor mage and he knew it, and so did everyone up at the College, by now. Why Enthir continued to associate with him in the company of other mages was beyond him; he was so embarrassed, he hardly wanted to associate with himself whenever he was there.

The Arcanaeum smelled of parchment and leather and tallow. Every time the wind howled, the glass panes rattled and the candles flickered. It was quiet and warm, and the endless shelves of books felt like Sanctuary.

Unwilling to accost Urag, Audric strayed to the side, flipping through the pages of a book about a place called Labyrinthian. It fascinated him so, that while Enthir inquired about information regarding the Elder Scrolls, he tucked it away in his bag.

“Do you at least have any information on them?” Enthir was getting nowhere, and fast, it sounded like.

“Do you even know what you’re asking about?” the Orc demanded suspiciously. “Or is this for one of your unsavory trades, Enthir? Besides, even if I had one here, I’d never let you see it. It would be kept under the highest security; the greatest thief in the world wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on it.”

Audric smirked, and decided to lend aid to the pursuit. Leaning on the gruff librarian’s desk, he said, “It’s perfectly understandable that you’re reluctant to put the Scroll — or any knowledge of it — into the hands of somebody’s errand boy. But, what about the Dragonborn?”

Urag scowled at him; Dragonborn or not, Audric had made an impression on the College, and not at all the right one. “And what do you plan to do with it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Audric sighed, “pick it up for a bit of light reading, I suppose.”

“To read an Elder Scroll, a person most have the most rigorously trained mind,” he snorted, “or else risk madness. Even so, the Divines usually take the reader's sight as a price.”

Alarmed, Audric almost toppled backward over a stack of books. “As a price? A price for what?”

Smug at having startled the mischievous Dragonborn, Urag folded his hands together and said, “The simplest way to put it is 'knowledge,' but there's nothing simple about an Elder Scroll.” His beady eyes twinkled as he examined Audric. “It's a reflection of all possible futures and all possible pasts. Each reader sees different reflections through different lenses, and may come away with a very different reading. But at the same time, all of it is true. Even the falsehoods. Especially the falsehoods.”

Metaphysical babble was all well and good, as far as Audric was concerned, but this was hardly the time. He was on a clock, after all.

“Alright, well I need to find one, so could you at least point me in the right direction? Unless the idea of this entire library frying up in Dragon fire appeals to you.”

That seemed to put the old Orc into motion. He shuffled about the locked shelves, muttering angrily to himself, stacking books into his arms until he had amassed a pillar of knowledge and set it on his desk.

“This is everything I have on the Scrolls, though it isn’t much. Don’t get your hopes up; it’s mostly lies, leavened with rumor and conjecture. And don’t you dare spill anything on them.”

With a hefty eye roll, Audric took the books in his arms and found a table to sit at. Enthir offered to keep him company, for which he was grateful. As much as the Arcanaeum brought to him a sense of comfort and nostalgia, he didn’t relish the idea of being caught alone by one of the students or faculty. There were a lot of things in this school that had gone missing and he could well account for most of them.

Some people might find bookwork dreary or tedious, but Audric soaked in it like a warm bath. He read carefully, taking notes in his journal of anything that seemed even remotely helpful; dates, names, times. But nothing seemed to point him in a certain direction. He’d begun to make note of the Ancestor Moths, but when he realized there was no way he could achieve that kind of ability in time to defeat Alduin, he scrapped it.

Then, there were the Ruminations of Septimus Signus. Audric must have been frowning pretty hard, because Enthir tried to shake him from his work.

“Are you alright? You’ve been at this a while, maybe we should get something to eat —”

“No, no it’s not — it’s this, it’s like…” he struggled to put his concepts to words, “it’s like poetry.”

Enthir chuckled. “What do you know about poetry?”

“Not much,” Audric admitted, “but I like reading it. Anyway, this is about as close as I’ve come to anything helpful. I need to speak with this Septimus fellow.”

Enthir’s face fell, and he looked upon Audric with genuine sadness. “Why don’t you talk to Urag about that.”


	9. Chapter 9

Audric stood on the edge of the ice floe, the frigid wind whipping his hair and his clothes in all directions, biting at his skin. The sea went on forever, the horizon a faint, gray line in the inconceivable distance. Septimus Signus, as it turned out, was a lunatic, and an unhelpful one, at that. “‘ _It’s all nearby!_ ’,” Audric mimicked to himself. “The old fool's probably sent me on a wild goose chase.” Digging through his pocket, he produced the strange, brassy cube; he was tempted to chuck the damned thing into the ocean. But he could always sell it, if it turned out to be useless. 

He trekked across the ocean, terrified with every crack of expanding ice, with every strong gust of wind. He hated open water, and now that his curiosity had been sated, it was increasingly difficult to ignore the chilly depths below. He hopped along the icecaps, a lonely figure in the vast, monotonous emptiness.

Back in town, the weather was milder; there was hardly a breeze, only the gentle fall of snow, quiet and insular. He said farewell to Enthir at the inn, and took a hot meal before hitting the road. Winter persisted during his journey through the mountains: Septimus had sent him looking for Alftand, a Dwemeri ruin, geographically not so far from Winterhold. But, trying to drive a horse through snow that deep and dealing with all manner of wildlife along the unpaved, winding paths  wasn’t worth it. So Audric had resolved to travel around, taking a mountain pass on the other end of the gorge.

It took him hours, but at last, he reached a fork in the road. From the top of the hill, Windhelm was visible, even through the frosty dusk. Smoke rose up in columns from the city, and the foggy glow of civilization tempted him. But then, it was out of the way.

It was soon dark, and Audric took his rest at the Nightgate Inn. He slept fitfully, dreaming of big hands and a warm bed.

The following morning was the coldest of the year thus far, and Audric couldn’t even bring himself to bathe. He wrapped himself in his clothes and his armor, and a fleece cloak he’d liberated from a wardrobe. Even so, the icy sting of winter seeped in. 

The sun rose just as he crested the pass. An old, decrepit shrine lay broken in the middle of it, but there was no sign of life. The tundra before him lay barren, and that was the way he liked it. Eventually though, the chipped, tin tops of towers rose from the white hills, the sunrise flashing gold and fiery on the cracked, alabaster stone. He tied the horse in a shed, and stooped to investigate the wreckage; there were corpses strewn about, and Audric kept his his guard up. There were journals, but none of them helpful; all research, all notation. He flipped through page after page, looted pocket after pocket, but had little to show for it.

Following the rickety plank bridges down, he delved deeper into the ruins until he found an entrance. Blood splattered the glacial walls, but he tried not to panic, unsheathing a dagger. The thrum of motors and pistons, the hiss of steam as it slithered out from between coils put his hair on end. He disliked Dwemeri ruins, and if what he knew from his history books was true, he disliked the long-since disappeared Dwemer, as well. Cruel, unrelenting creatures, he thought them, made savage by their implacable pursuit of knowledge. The automatons were not much of a challenge, but they were terrifying to him in their mystery. He did not understand how they worked, how steam could bring cold metal to life. He picked them for gain and for curiosity, but he made more gold than he did progress. The catacombs were dim and dank, made humid from the steam, water drip-dropping from the ceilings and pipes. The sounds of metalwork overtook his footsteps, and Audric worried he wouldn’t hear an approaching threat. 

Deeper and deeper he delved, where the warmth and moisture was suffocating, and soon, a familiar, foul stench permeated the air. He lifted his cowl over his mouth and nose, and sheathed the dagger; if there would be Falmer ahead, he’d rather go unnoticed. The sound of them was wretched: flat footsteps – the sound of bare skin against stone; their ragged gasps for breath, as if they were drowning in the dark corners of the world. Audric resolved to wash his boots when this was all over.

One of the reasons he so despised these ruins was that he always lost time down there; without the sun and without any measure of passing time besides his own discombobulated hunger and drowsiness, he had no way of knowing when an hour had passed, or several, or an entire day. It was disorienting and it put him on edge. But with patience and stealth, even the ruins of Alftand gave way. An immense stone tower rose above a crumbling staircase, overlooking a quiet, decaying alcove. A handful of Falmer patrolled the ground, but in their beastly stupor, they tread the same paths over and over and over again. Picking his way along a wall, Audric avoided the lookouts. Prideful at his skill, he took a congratulatory moment in the alcove to sneer down at the creatures below him...but the screech of rusted metal awakening spurred him back into motion. A Centurion removed itself from its decorative arches, and began searching for the source of the disturbance, but Audric, heart in his throat, kept to the shadows. Back against the wall, he almost tripped over himself to find shelter.

Another chamber was carved into the stone, and in it were two people. Audric remained unseen and watched, still keeping an ear on the clanking atrocity just outside. The two – an Imperial and a Redguard – were arguing, something about glory and abandonment, and Blackreach. Audric had waited long enough, though, and was getting increasingly worried about the Centurion, so he sprang for the lift behind the arguing couple. They tried to catch him mid-flight, surprised by the small, uninvited Breton. 

“I’m very sorry!” he hollered before Shouting them off, knocking them back into the stone. And just as he yanked the lever on the lift, the Centurion came back into view. “I’m so sorry,” he said again, a solemn murmur.

But the lift took him up, not down, and he found himself above ground, outside an empty camp. The sun was midway through the sky, and as he realized how much time had gone by, exhaustion overtook him, and he crawled under some furs in a weatherworn tent, and curled into sleep.

*       *       *

When he woke, it was dark, and the sky was obscured by clouds. With no way of telling where he was, he was resigned to getting back into the lift, and dealing with whatever waited for him. He rummaged through the abandoned packs and found some bread. His stomach growled angrily but he ignored it to the best of his abilities.

The descent down felt quicker than going up.

The chamber was devoid of life, now. The body of the Imperial lay strewn, broken and bloody on the floor; the Redguard woman was nowhere to be seen, and Audric hoped she had escaped. Beyond, he could still hear the heavy footsteps of the enormous automaton, but only occasionally. Slumping against the wall, he gazed around, tired and frustrated. There was no other lift, and this one only went up.

There was, though, something glimmering in the dark that caught his attention: at the center of the room, nestled into the stone, there was a decidedly sphere-shaped hollow. Moving through the dark, careful as could be, Audric approached, drawing the tuning sphere from a pocket. The small thing fit like a key inside of a lock, and quite suddenly, the floor gave way to a spiraling set of stairs, and Audric descended.

Eventually he came to Blackreach, beautiful and foreboding. A great, cavernous country unto itself, immeasurable by the naked eye, its unending darkness seemed to swallow him whole. Never in his life had he felt so small as while crawling tentatively along the roads of the broken Dwemeri city. He wondered at the luminous flora, the phosphorescent pools, the towering mounds of shimmering rock. He could spend a lifetime down here, he thought, dipping his bare feet into the water. It was warm, and left his skin feeling soft and clean. He collected a few vials and moved on. He did not know how many hours he spent in the yawning depths of Blackreach, but eventually his attention was forced back to the task at hand. He fumbled his way to the Tower of Mzark, but determined that he would have to return one day and see more of what was hidden so closely in the earth.

At the top of the tower, Audric found himself in a sepulchral chamber. It was humid and refuse littered the place: books in various states of ruin, gears and levers, bits and pieces of machinery long since defeated. Audric plundered a rucksack nearby and found a journal that, in coarse terms, described the plight of a man who had come before him.

Finding the Oculory, Audric stared in awe at the complexity of lenses and arms above. He wandered up and found the table that operated the machine, just as Septimus had described to him. He pressed and prodded at the mechanism, but nothing happened until he fixed the lexicon into its receptacle. Then, the thing came to life, pulsating with a soft glow. Audric fussed and fidgeted with it for a while until he worked out a pattern to it: to the left, twice, then to the left again, once, and so on… Patiently, he played with the lenses for some time, arranging them until he finally coaxed the machine into submission.

Encased in crystal trapping, the Elder Scroll was his.

His heart thudded hard in his chest and his veins filled with adrenaline; he was almost dizzy with the unexpected thrill of beholding it. He wasn’t sure what had come over him: up to this point, it had been just another artifact, another cobble in the road he was forging. But the nearer he came to it, the more frenzied he felt. Picking it up, he turned it over. It was light, and the parchment felt almost soft, like tenuous leather – not quite there. He didn’t dare open it, not after what Urag had said about it. Instead, he tucked it into a hide tube, and hid it in his bag. The humor of toting an Elder Scroll amongst his regular belongings did not escape him, and he chuckled to himself on his way out to the lift.

  
  
  


He’d almost gone alone, but now that he was lying on his back in the snow, bleeding out from his arm, he was very glad he hadn’t. He could hear Enthir’s voice, though the words didn’t make sense. All the same, it was a comfort to have the sound of a friend, especially while that same friend mended him up. Healing magic was always nasty: the process of bone and sinew regrowing was never as painless as people imagined.

As Audric fell back into consciousness, he heard Alduin’s distant roar.

“Come on,” Enthir linked his arm with Audric’s uninjured one and pulled him into a sitting position. “Come on, you’re alright.”

“Like hell,” Audric rasped. He could still smell smoke and his eyes watered, the condensation freezing on his lashes. He felt Enthir’s grip on him tighten and winced; then, he felt the sweep of dragon wings, and the shudder of stone.

“ _By the Eight_ ,” Enthir murmured.

“You truly have the voice of a _Dovah_.” Paarthurnax crowed proudly. “Alduin’s allies will think twice after this victory.”

Choking on the cold, Audric snarled. “It wasn’t much of a victory, since he, you know, _escaped_.” He glared, but his bitterness was wasted on the endless patience of the ancient dragon. “I need to know where he went!”

Calmly, Paarthurnax nodded, considering. “One of his allies could tell us. _Motmahus_ ...it won’t be easy to convince one of them to betray him…” The three of them held still in the frigid evening, puzzling over what to do. “Perhaps the _Hofkahsejun_ ,” Paarthurnax suggested.

“The what now?” Audric asked impudently.

“The palace in Whiterun…” The old _Dovah_ combed his boundless memory, but Audric beat him to it.

“Dragonsreach?” he said. His head was pounding, and he was sore all over but at least his arm wasn’t broken anymore. “Why would –”

“It was originally built to house a captive _Dovah_. A fine place to trap one of Alduin’s allies, hm?”

Audric pondered this for a few moments, rubbing his hands to keep warm. He couldn’t begin to imagine what he would say to Balgruuf, how he could ask for such a favor, particularly during a time where the only thing that was certain was turmoil. Eventually, he concluded, “The Jarl of Whiterun might not think so.”

Enthir intervened then, having finally found his words again. “Audric, you’re one of the most persuasive men I know. If anyone can convince a Jarl to abide such a request, I’m sure it’s you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Enthir,” Audric spat grumpily.

“Your _Thu’um_ is strong,” Paarthurnax argued. “I do not doubt that you can convince him of the need.”

Exhaustion washing over him, Audric collapsed backward, but Enthir caught him before he hit the snow. All the same, a part of him wished to lie in the cold until it overtook him, and then he wouldn’t have to convince anybody of anything. He pushed Enthir away when his fussing became too much, insisting that he was fine. In spite of every nerve in his body still tingling with fear, in spite of the pain that stretched into every corner of his body, he was fine.

“We can stay with the Greybeards tonight,” he said at last. “They will have food for us, and beds to rest in.”

“So long as we get off of this awful mountain and out of the gale.” Enthir pulled Audric to his feet and wrapped an arm around him, guiding him.

Audric glanced over his shoulder and watched Paarthurnax’s expression, unable to read him as he might with a human. Instead, the dragon’s old eyes bore into him until he lost his resolve and turned away.

The next morning, the pair of them descended into Ivarstead together, and Audric took Enthir so far as the road into Eastmarch. The elf dismounted and Audric sent him off with a few provisions, and they parted ways with little travail. Once Enthir disappeared around a corner, Audric took off at a gallop for Whiterun.

The planes came into view as evening set in, a rosy glow settling over the dead grass and illuminating the spaces between crumbling stone where mortar had rotted away.

Dragonsreach was warm and welcoming after riding through the hard chill that had settled over the land: the lower parts of the country had yet to see snow, but frost crept along the valleys and the wind had grown brisk. Farmers were long past harvest, and now smoke billowed up from the settlements where meat was being smoked, vegetables pickled, and grain stored.

Balgruuf received Audric warmly as always, and insisted that they sit down to dinner together.

Audric ate the delicious food and sat in the comfortable hall and enjoyed the amenities with some guilt, knowing he was really calling for business – and not good business, at that. He listened to Balgruuf fume for a while: about the Thalmor, about Ulfric, and about the dragons.

“I hear you and Tullius are planning some kind of confrontation with the Embassy soon,” he mentioned sometime during the second course.

Audric nodded. “It’s the better of two bad choices,” he confided. “Naturally it’s better: it was my idea.” He smiled and stirred his soup around.

“Probably. Though I believe I’ve heard that putting Ulfric back on the throne in Windhelm was your idea, too.”

“It was _Ulfric’s_ idea; I just agreed to help things along.”

“And I imagine the pay was good?”

The accusation stung, all the more so because it was true. “Yes, excessively. But the money was hardly the most compelling part of the deal.” He sipped some broth before adding, “Ulfric’s friendship and influence could mean everything, in a time of need.”

Balgruuf nodded sympathetically, though his gaze remained dry. “I don’t approve, but I understand.”

“What is this rivalry between the two of you?” Audric asked. “You share many opinions and attitudes.” The jarl scoffed but he went on. “I think if it weren’t for this loathsome axe between you, you might be excellent allies, if not good friends.”

Balgruuf regarded Audric as a tired man would regard a petulant child. “Ulfric’s interests are his own; my interests are that of my people.” It wasn’t untrue, but it didn’t encompass the entire truth, either. But Audric couldn’t argue about that at the moment, and even considering it made his stomach turn. “But I don’t think you came here to talk alliances.”

“What do you think I came here for?”

Balgruuf chuckled; the sound bounced heartily around, dissipating high up in the rafters. But as it settled, so did his expression, and it was sad. “I thought you would know by now that you needn’t hide your intentions from me,” he said. “You’ve never sent word ahead of yourself. Why should that change now? You must want something from me.”

Of course Audric’s attempt at courtesy would be his undoing. Putting on his most charming smile, he looked on sweetly and said, “Well you know, there are a great many things I want from you –” but he was not allowed to conclude his charade.

“Don’t play games, friend. Get to the point of the matter.” Balgruuf wasn’t unkind, but his patience for Audric’s tricks was at its frayed end.

During this time, the hall had conveniently emptied, save for the necessary guards and ever-present, ever-determined Irileth. All this time and she still watched him like a hawk, which was tiresome, as Audric had a habit of liberating small trinkets and occasional books from the palace.

“I’d rather not say, in present company.” Warily, Audric eyed those who remained. He couldn’t anticipate Balgruuf’s reaction, and he didn’t want to cause alarm before he managed to do anything at all.

Balgruuf was a fair man, despite his temper. “I’ll allow it,” he said. “Come, we’ll go upstairs to my study, where the walls don’t have ears.”

Audric nodded and followed.

He'd twisted his words over and over in his head, had composed speech after speech on the way there, but none of it seemed good enough. It was all disingenuous, evasive nonsense, and it made bile rise in his throat. He would just have to come out with it, then. Once the doors were shut and they were alone, Audric perched on Balgruuf’s desk. “I need something from you.”

“And I am in your debt,” Balgruuf said, smiling, as if Audric was being melodramatic and all could be forgiven.

The silence seemed to pile up and up, crushing Audric with the weight of anticipation. He had to open his mouth and say something but he couldn’t think of anything better than, “I need to trap a dragon in your palace.” The silence bore down on him even harder, and he was the first to look away. “You know I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important. Alduin needs to be stopped and I –”

“There must be another way,” Balgruuf shook his head. “The risk is too great. And how can we expect to fight the World-Eater? His return beckons the end times.”

Audric had a few choices here. And he remembered the question Paarthurnax had put to him, upon their meeting. “I don’t care if it is the end times,” Audric growled, staring at his boots. “It’s my destiny to stop him.” If he had looked at his own reflection at that moment, he wouldn’t have known him: this was a very different man from the boy who was dumped in front of the chopping block in Helgen, those many months ago. “I was told Dragonsreach was meant to house a dragon; now if I can trap one of Alduin’s allies, I can interrogate him, and maybe I can figure out how to save this world that you and I both love. How about it?”

Balgruuf was nodding, now, moved by his lecture. “That does make a good bit of sense, and I want to help you, Audric, I do. But…”

“Oh, there’s always something,” Audric hopped down from the desk.

“You have some unfinished business with the Thalmor Embassy, and now Tullius has put out a call for arms to support his cause. I’m not in a position to refuse him, but then how can I put my city in danger of a dragon with so little manpower left over? Go see to this outrageous errand with Tullius and Ulfric, and if you survive, then we can worry about the dragons.”

It felt like being stuck between a rock and a hard place: he wasn’t sure which he’d rather deal with – Ulfric, or Alduin.

“That’s fair,” he conceded. “I wouldn’t risk the lives of the people of Whiterun. I’ve come to love this place dearly.”

“And do you always take as you please from the ones you love?” Balgruuf challenged with a smile.

Audric’s eyes widened. “You’ve known this whole time and you haven’t imprisoned me?”

Balgruuf laughed. “I’d be a fool to jail Man’s greatest hope, wouldn’t I? I don’t think Shor would be pleased with me were I to throw his champion behind bars. But that aside, once this catastrophe is over, you’d better watch yourself. You can only be tolerated for as long as you’re essential.”

“And here I thought I had friends in high places. Very well. I’ll come back after the Thalmor have been dealt with. But you’re promising me, yes?” He offered his hand.

Balgruuf eyed it warily. “A king’s word is his bond,” he said. “But what good is the word of a thief?”

Audric didn’t allow his hand to falter. “I don’t know. But my word must be good enough for your gods, mustn't it?” he threw the implications back in Balgruuf’s face. He disliked being joined to any of the Divines, no matter how loosely.

Balgruuf took his hand and gave it a firm, binding shake. “I have very little reason not to trust you,” he agreed. “But do not test the boundaries of that trust. Now, stay the night in a warm bed and wake up to a warmer meal. The road can wait another day, surely.”

“That it can,” he agreed, and followed his friend into the bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

Audric rode hard, his thighs cramping from exertion. He could feel the exhaustion in his horse’s gallop, but pressed on anyway. Windhelm was only another hour away, at this speed. Despite being on the road, though, his thoughts remained in his basement, tucked neatly in a hiding hole he had excavated in the stone. Nestled deep amongst must and mortar, in a damp corner of his modest home, there lay an Elder Scroll. 

He also continued to revisit his contest with Alduin, reliving his mistakes and kicking himself at every opportunity. He imagined all of the ways it could have gone instead until he was tangled up in the coils of What-If, its venom poisoning his veins and souring his mood. The cold didn’t help, either. The weather was gray, the sky a sheet of dull metal, tarnished with dark storm clouds. The promise of snowfall tasted sharp in the air. He dismounted at the stables and left his horse in the reliable — if annoyingly cheerful — care of Ulundil. 

The city felt barren. Shutters had been latched and the streets were devoid of any sign of life. The bare branches of trees appeared to scrape against the dismal sky. Loose crumbs of gravel and shards of ice broke and crunched beneath Audric’s boots, and it was so quiet that he winced upon entering the palace, for the doors let out such a groan as if in agony. 

Jorleif glanced up from his seat and then his eyes turned wide, filled with something akin to awe. He regarded Audric like a spirit, looking pale, relieved, and horrified in turns. “By Ysmir, is it...is it really you?”

“It certainly isn’t Vivec,” Audric replied sarcastically. 

“No, it’s only…” Jorleif stood, the rush of air behind him agitating the papers on the table. “Bellamy,” he said breathlessly, “we all saw it. We saw the storm on the mountain; you could watch from the city streets. And then, the noise like thunder. Was that —?”

“Yes, it was.” Audric cut him off, uncomfortable with the question before it was asked.

“But then we saw Alduin! Flying away, alive and....”

“We both survived, but only because the bastard turned tail. Where’s Ulfric?”

“Ah.” Jorleif looked supremely discomfited, and began fidgeting. “Like I said, we came to our own conclusions. There’s been mourning in the streets; we had to send guards down to the Gray Quarter, it was so clogged with…” Jorleif struggled to find the least offensive description.

“Oh, spit it out.”

“I’m sorry, I know how fond of them you are.”

“ _ Jorleif _ . Nevermind, where is Ulfric?”

Jorlief averted his eyes, looking displeased at being admonished. “He left with the rest of the war party, about a day ago.”

“They left  _ without me _ ?” Audric yelled. His voice bounded off of the stone. 

“We thought you were dead! And can you blame us?”

“Yes. Anyway, I suppose I’m off to Haafingar. Goodbye, Jorleif, and try not to give anyone any trouble in my absence. If the weather gets you down, Ambarys Rendar sells fine liquors at his Cornerclub. Warms up the insides quite nicely.”

He barely stayed long enough to savor the expression on Jorleif’s face.

It should’ve been less of a challenge to catch up to the company, but a recent storm had covered the roads and he’d exhausted his poor horse. What might have taken only a few hours took the rest of the night: he slumped in his saddle and cursed the deep drifts of snow as they plodded through it. It wasn’t until sunrise that he found where the tracks picked up again: deep ruts from wagon wheels and innumerable hoofprints had churned the snow and the ground beneath it. It wasn’t difficult to guess the path they were taking, and a lonely road patrol in the Pale confirmed that they had ambled through the day before. Audric traded his horse for the intel and snatched more than a few coin purses on his way. On foot, he cut through the snowcovered forests, cowl and hood shrouding his face to avoid being whipped by frozen branches.

From the top of a hill, he spotted them, a band of eighty at least. Like a shadow, he slid down the snowy bank; losing his footing at the bottom, he skidded onto the road splayed on his back, laughing. He accepted one of several hands offering to help him up. A tide of whispers rolled through the ranks and faces hidden behind helmets turned to watch as he pushed his way to the front. It was unnerving, and he tried to brush it off.

Ulfric was leading, Galmar at his side. 

Audric climbed onto the supply wagon and perched at the front, and then called, “Ulfric!”

The man in question jerked around in genuine, undignified surprise and his eyes widened, wet with either cold or relief. 

“You started the party without me; how very unsporting of you.” Audric wagged a finger teasingly, but his insistent playfulness failed to lighten the mood. “Ulfric?” He wasn’t used to his humor going unappreciated.

When he finally managed to rein in his emotions, Ulfric murmured, “We’ll talk later.”

Feeling very small, Audric nodded and pulled into himself. Remorse was peculiar to him and he almost didn’t recognize it — and he certainly didn’t know what to do with it.

‘Later’ turned out to mean when they had gathered a few miles from Solitude to make camp. They stopped in a clearing, sheltered by a grassy overhang and dense forest. Audric knew the area, but not so well that he would stray by himself at night. It was frigid even here, where the stream off the coast was mild. Instead of snow, the land was soggy from a fresh downpour. He disliked the mud, but helped out anyway, grimacing all the while. The air was heavy and the sky was dark, clogged with bloated thunderheads. 

Audric shuffled around the camp, loitering with the soldiers. His chest felt tight, but with what, he couldn’t tell. Guilt, longing, nerves, or even just a regular ache...it worsened when he heard Ulfric call his name. He tried to stroll casually into the tent, but it came off as a tired drag. Besides, with his head down, he looked almost humble.

Humility, Ulfric decided, did not suit him.

The silence thickened until the tension fastened itself around them both like a rope, tight, strangling. Audric resolved the matter by speaking first. “You look pale. Are you well?”

Ulfric frowned, not taking to his jokes at all. “If I seem as though I’ve seen a ghost, you’ll have to forgive me. For a while now, I thought I had.”

“Are you of so little faith?” He put up his most winning smile, but that only seemed to infuriate his friend.

“What was I supposed to make of it? A catastrophic storm at the Throat of the World? Alduin, very much alive? And you were nowhere to be found, not so much as a letter or gossip in the streets.”

“It’s not my fault!” he protested.

“Two weeks, and five days.” Ulfric rumbled solemnly. “That’s a long time not to write.”

Audric was taken aback. “I’m here now, aren’t I? And that’s got to count for something.”

“I’d say it counts for a quite a bit.” They both turned around, shocked at being interrupted: Tullius stood, the tent flap settling behind him. “I was worried about pulling this stunt without you. Though, I notice you’re without your entourage. Hardly surprising.”

Audric bristled. “We thieves honor our promises,” he spat. “They couldn’t have known; I told them the agreed-upon date and then you all left early.”

“With you presumably dead and gone, we didn’t want to lose our element of surprise.”

“You know,” Audric put his hands on his hips, “for such a renown tactician, you show a startling lack of tact.” Then he wheeled around, back on Ulfric. “Were you so quick to dismiss me, too?”

Ulfric took a moment to answer, but when he did, it sank heavy in Audric’s gut. “I was quick to mourn.”

Visibly uncomfortable, Tullius cleared his throat and confirmed plans curtly before taking leave. Audric stared at the space where he’d stood, puzzled. “You know, I feel remarkably like we were walked in on.”

“Weren’t we?” Ulfric replied, and Audric’s face went warm.

That night, Audric turned in early, but to little effect; the soldiers outside were rowdy, full of drink and story. He’d have liked to join them, but he didn’t relish nursing a hangover while tip-toeing through the Embassy. It was agony to listen to, though. He rolled around a bit before standing from his bedroll and pulling on a long shirt and some leggings. He paced around, resisting temptation, and just as he began to feel he couldn’t stand it any longer, he turned to find an unexpected visitor.

“Excuse you,” he scoffed, “what if I had been —?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Ulfric assured him. 

“What are you doing here!” he demanded, cheeks hot.

Ulfric pulled up the only chair — rickety and a little bit rotten. Not at all fit for a king. “I thought I’d try to persuade you, one last time.”  Inhaling deeply, closing his eyes, he said, “You don’t have to do this.”

Audric raised an eyebrow. “No, I really think I do. I might have been able to step down a few weeks ago but on the eve of the occasion? Even I’m not that flaky.”

“This isn’t another one of your heists, Audric. You’re lucky to have escaped with your life the first time.”

“And here I thought it was going to be a tea social, like back home,” he sneered, crossing his arms. “Look, I know what I’m getting myself into. And —”

“Do you? Can you really fathom the nightmare that awaits you if you’re caught?”

Relaxing a little, Audric allowed his gaze to fall slowly over the man in front of him, trying to imagine the scars that must have been hidden behind all of that finery and posture. “I have a few ideas. Anyway, I’m sure that if she sends me back to you in an urn, it will at least be tasteful.”

Ulfric’s brows met in an angry line. “Kill you? She won’t be so kind.”

Audric gulped. “I know that. But I have to do this.”

“No, you don’t. We can make it without you.”

“Sure, but what about all that sensitive intel? I’ve had more than my fair share of time; I can stand to buy some for this place.” Audric reached into his shirt and lifted his pendant out. He tried not to watch the passage of confusion and then anger on Ulfric’s face as he removed it from his neck. Taking Ulfric’s hand and prying apart his fingers, he lay the piece in his palm. “Take this back.”

It was still warm from Audric’s skin. The sapphires seemed aglow. “What did you do with it?” Ulfric asked softly.

“I told you, I enchanted it. Nothing special, mind you. Just a little restoration charm, nothing a novice couldn’t preform…”

Ulfric clasped his old treasure in a tight grip. He was mad, though he couldn’t bear to leave on such terms. He forced his other hand out to land on Audric’s shoulder, fingers digging. Startled, Audric locked eyes with him. “Please,” he tried one last time. “Don’t go.”

The two of them stayed fastened in one another’s gaze, and the gravity of what had just taken place pulled on them both, but it still wasn’t strong enough to force either hand. Ulfric was the first to pull away. 

“Goodnight, then,” he offered gruffly before leaving.

Audric slipped back into his bedroll, tingling all over, but mostly where moments before, a heavy silver pendant had lain against his chest. He felt for it, despite knowing it would not be there, and in its absence, he fondled the silver cuff on his ear and tried to think of Bryn.

 

*       *       *

 

Sometime in the night, the air had frozen and snow began to fall, becoming slush. The soldiers gathered together, and Audric stood among them. He stayed low and out of sight while Ulfric gave a speech; had he his way, he’d have saved the speech for a victory. When it was time for everyone to take their places, he split off from the group, a lonely swath of black in the snow and mud. The climb was hazardous, but he’d made worse. He listened to the procession and prayed for the lives of strangers to gods he didn’t trust.

Audric slipped through a pine forest as a shadow against the thick trunks. He weaved in and out and under branches; he slithered over brambles; he crawled uphill through underbrush. Here, the snow began to pile up, colder and in weightier drifts than below. Light as he was, he hopped along, not dragging his feet. His heartbeat was steadily climbing into his throat, though, as he remembered what he’d seen upon his last visit. The memories burned across his eyelids: Etienne, hanging by his wrists, dirty and bruised and broken; spatters of blood and scorch marks decorating the walls; rusted, bloodied stretchers and chain-yanks and all other manner of terrors, hidden beneath a warm and opulent façade. 

The smell at the cave entrance was putrid; apparently, no one had bothered to notice that the troll was dead. It was hard enough not to vomit while clambering back through the mucky dregs, but the fresh smell of torture made him wretch, once he was in the embassy proper. He waited, trying to control himself, before moving on. He kept seeing things out of the corner of his vision: a shadow or a color or an imagined movement, and he found himself a prisoner to sickening déjà vu. His skin crawled until it was almost numb with anticipation, and he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He wondered if the sensation alone would kill him before he completed his errand. Lamps burned, barely a flicker, and the air was warm and smelled of lavender and tallow. The windowpanes would occasionally rattle with wind, but there was nary a creak beneath his feet, nor even the whisper of his cloak. His hand relaxed around the grip of his dagger, and that was his first mistake.

A searing coil wrapped around his throat, quiet and deadly as any snake: it burned his skin and seemed to reach inside him, incapacitating him. He screamed, but there was no sound, and he lost himself in the pain. He might have reached for a weapon or rolled away to defend himself, but he could barely move. 

“Contrary to popular opinion, lightning can, in fact, strike the same place more than once.” Elenwen’s cordial voice only accentuated her venom. “But I would expect a thief — even a petty one — to know better.”

Tears burning in his eyes, Audric tried desperately to Shout, but found nothing.

“The Dragonborn in my grasp. How tempting it is to make an example of you. To execute Lorkhan’s shining star, publicly, gruesomely…” she speculated delightedly. 

Audric’s anger scorched him from the inside while Elenwen’s spell continued its torture. It surprised him; any fear he was feeling hurtled forward, convulsing, twisting itself into aggression. This went on, growing, swelling, hot discomfort pushing against him from within. 

“Sadly, there is little time for such a formal thing.”

“Lady Ambassador,” quivered a nearby voice, “the report is that there’s been an ambush.”

The invisible snare tugged on Audric’s neck and he choked, crumpling to the ground. “You mean there were more of them?” She sounded genuinely surprised, which would have pleased Audric, under other circumstances.

“Well. Tullius’ men, actually.”

“Treacherous,” she observed plainly. “Our defenses will hold, nonetheless. I will have to confer with the front, however. In the meantime, please escort our guest to the dungeon. Make him comfortable, and gag him,” she ordered. “Make certain he can’t speak, or it’s your life.”

After that, Audric faded out, resenting himself, despising Elenwen, and wishing he hadn't hesitated with Ulfric the night before.

 

*       *       *

 

A guard leaned against the makeshift battlement, bored. She had been left to keep watch while a small contingent cleaned up the last of the Elven rabble. She stiffened though, and whirled around at the sound of hooves. A figure was approaching rapidly. As he gained distance, his silhouette became ungainly, too big to be one man, riding lopsidedly. 

Then, she recognized the Thalmor garb, and raised her weapon. They continued to beeline for the camp.

“Stand down!” one rider cried, frantic. He ripped his hood down and revealed a human face. She wavered, but kept her sword raised. Still, she failed to cut him down when he tore into the camp, almost tumbling off the horse. 

“My name’s Etienne Rarnis!” he panted. “I’m with the splinter group, here with Audric Bellamy —” he tried to explain as he hauled his cargo — the other rider, limp — from the saddle.

She shook her head. “He hasn’t returned yet. It’s been days, I’m sorry to say. But why…” she gestured at the Thalmor robes.

Etienne managed to prop himself under his burden like a crutch. “This is him.” Gently, he removed Audric’s hood to expose his face, caked in dried blood. “It barely seems it,” he said, holding back tears, “but it is, I swear. Please, he needs help...he’s barely breathing.” 

“Alright,” she offered her arms. “Don’t go into hysterics, we’ll take care of him.” 

“You don’t understand!” Etienne cried. “He...he was…”

Her face softened as she carried the Breton in her arms. The  _ Dragonborn _ in her arms. What a strange day. “Like I said, we’ll take him to our healer. And if she can’t mend him, there are any number of talented hands in the cities.”

“I don’t think we have the time for that,” he protested.

Ulfric was in the midst of a circular argument with Tullius when they were both interrupted by Etienne. He barely announced himself before lunging into a piecemeal explanation. “He’s...he isn’t well...what an understatement…”

“Start over, son,” Tullius said. “Breathe a moment.”

Ulfric’s brow furrowed as he listened, and his mouth went dry. His worst fears confirmed, he didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Etienne's story. He found his way to the healer’s tent, but tarried outside, nausea budding in his gut as he envisioned all the conditions he might find Audric in. Steeling himself, he entered, and somehow it was worse than he’d anticipated.

Audric was laid out on a cot, stripped, all his wounds uncovered, burns and scars in crosshatch. His face was wrong: his eyes were closed, as if in tranquil sleep, and no pain pulled at his mouth. His red hair fanned around his face and shoulders, revealing angry welts and monstrous bruises along his neck, his chest, and abdomen. An especially aggravated wound framed his jaw, where some despicable contraption had kept it shut. 

Rage and anguish rose in Ulfric with bile, and he took to his knees at Audric’s side. He dared not touch him, but his fingers ghosted near the gouges in Audric’s wrists. He wished only to sew this boy up, to breathe life into him again, to make all the pain go away. 

When he was kindly asked to leave, he acquiesced without ado, but before leaving, he removed his necklace. This prized possession, this family heirloom, this tainted treasure that he had missed for so long...it was worth returning to the thief who took it in the first place, if it meant the charm placed upon it might help at all.

Ulfric almost regretted it later, when in the night, Audric came to with blood-curdling screams. Weeping, he considered that death might have been more merciful.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

In the following weeks, Ulfric haunted his own palace like a ghost. He stalked the halls, silent and sullen, keeping mostly to himself. In junctures between business, he would loiter outside the room where Audric was laid up, sometimes coming in to see him, but usually drifting just outside, listening. He remembered with terrible clarity the state he had been in after escaping Elenwen’s reach, and how far beyond the grasp of sinew and bone it went.

Audric, when he was conscious, could hardly be called even a shadow of himself: he was sober, weakened, and all the mirthful fire seemed crushed out of him. In place of the glorious, effervescent blaze he once had been, he now seemed a wisp of gray smoke. 

“How is he looking?” Ulfric asked his healer.

He frowned, not at all encouraging. “He’s alive,” he said quietly. “That’s the most we can ask from him, now.”

And then one evening, Audric came knocking at the door to Ulfric’s study. The most remarkable thing about this person, Ulfric decided, was not his Dragon blood or his brazen personality or his quick wit — nor even his exquisite disregard for rules and decorum. No, the most remarkable thing about Audric Bellamy was his resilience. Ulfric watched him as he spoke, and though the light in his eyes had been doused, he still smiled with wounded lips. 

Audric spoke idly; he darted between topics without course, sometimes doubling back and repeating himself. But Ulfric didn’t stop him. He only sat and watched, and listened. He nodded and hummed thoughtfully, filling in the empty spaces. It might have been tempting to console him, or to interrupt him, but Ulfric wanted to allow him the space to heal as he pleased.

And yet, Audric seemed unsatisfied. Despite his injured body and character, he did not disappoint: he challenged boundaries without regard for what they were or why they were in place. He agitated Ulfric in true form, but Ulfric resolved to maintain his temper, and subsequently, his dignity. 

“You have every allowance to be angry,” he said carefully, following the tail of a hot tirade. 

“Whose allowance?” Audric demanded. “Yours?”

Patience and smile wearing thin, Ulfric leaned forward in his chair. “Not that you’d need it. You’re tired—”

“I’m  _ exhausted _ .”

“And you’re hurt. Badly. You’ve had some time to heal, but it isn’t enough.” He watched Audric waver with his retort. “Every time you move: to chew a meal, to wash yourself, to roll over in bed? Even the smallest movement causes strain, I know.” Silence descended upon the room and filled it like gauze, insular and suffocating. “You’re in pain — don’t look away from me — you’re in pain and I will be here, whether you attack me or not. But others won’t understand so well.”

Audric’s smile diminished into a hollow, defeated smirk. He stood and left, and called over his shoulder, “I hate when you’re right.”

 

*       *       *

 

Audric’s nights continued to be hot and uncomfortable; he would toss and turn and cry in agony. Anxiety took root in him, inflating itself until it bloomed into inescapable panic. He would sit up and hyperventilate and gorge himself on cold water — sometimes until he was sick — and then sob into sleep, only to wake an hour or two later and do it all over again.

One night was especially bad. Hysterical, he woke already clutching the sheets in clammy palms, chest heavy and threatening to collapse — or so it always felt. Swinging over the side of the bed, he held his head in his hands until his tears ran dry. Knowing it was impossible to clear his mind, he decided a distraction was in order. Pulling clothes on would be too painful and taxing, and all he could manage was a robe. The satin was a cool, welcome whisper on his scarred skin. 

It was the middle of the night, and the halls were cold and empty. Only palace guards remained — anywhere from still and stiff as statues to slouched against the wall, mid-snore. His walk was uninterrupted, for which he was uncharacteristically grateful. Before, social visits were welcome, but no more, not with the way people looked at him, as if he were a child’s toy — once favorited, now broken and discarded. 

He had arrived at Ulfric’s bedroom door on accident. It was just a familiar footpath, he told himself before giving a modest knock. It was late, and he didn’t expect to be received.

“Come in.” Ulfric’s voice filled him like a warm drink on a cold day. 

Stepping into the room, he shut the door quietly behind him. He sagged against it, but smiled. “You’re awake.”

“Good book,” Ulfric offered, lifting his hand to show off the volume. 

“Oh. Well it’s not like me to interrupt a good reading so I’ll —”

“Please, sit,” he said too quickly. “Unless of course, you’d rather go back to bed. It’s late.”

“No, I’ll stay.” He found a chair and slumped into it, his exertion catching up with him. He wasn’t sleepy, only tired. 

Ulfric kept humble quarters, not like the suites Audric was used to seeing. In fact, he suspected that this was not a King’s room at all. It was spacious, but it was only the one room, without foyers or dens or excess. Ulfric was at his desk, behind a window which looked out onto the eastern inlet. 

“I, uh…” he reached into the collar of his robe and drew out the pendant. “I thought I would return this, while I was at it.”

Ulfric frowned. “No, that belongs to you. You stole it fair and square, if I remember.” he smirked. “Please,” he added more seriously. “Is it still as bad as it looked?”

Snorting, Audric turned the pendant over in his fingers. “Nothing helps that much,” he said. “But, you knew that already.” 

Ulfric stood and approached him. His eyes found a scar peeking out from the falling collar of Audric’s robe. It was red, still, but it looked to be healing. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. If it was for the painful-looking wound or for touching without asking, well, that could be decided later. His fingertips found the agitated skin, and it felt hotter than the rest. 

Audric froze and held his breath. He felt fire wherever Ulfric touched him, and his gut churned as if he’d been drinking. 

“Nothing helps, you said,” Ulfric hummed.

“Not that much,” he repeated, his throat growing tight. 

“I’m so sorry.” Ulfric held Audric’s face in his hand, fingertips pushing into a mess of red hair.

He embraced Ulfric’s touch as though he were starved; he felt cradled in the warmth of Ulfric’s hands, fingers as callused from the press of a pen as the wield of an axe. Shock moved through him in long, exaggerated waves when Ulfric’s lips pressed against his wounded skin and he gasped. Ulfric withdrew, but his breath still broke on his neck in hot bursts. 

“I should have asked —”

“It’s fine—” Audric faltered. He hadn’t felt so vulnerable in a very long time, and it was almost as thrilling as it was humiliating. He stopped trying to reconcile all the thoughts in his head with the sounds that had jammed into his throat and focused on his breath. He put Ulfric’s face between his hands and pulled him back in. “If I want you to stop,” he said slowly, “you’ll know it.” He kissed Ulfric slowly, finally relaxing.

“Is this helping?” Ulfric smirked between kisses. 

Audric laughed, hoarse and punchy. “It’s amusing, if nothing else.”

Their kisses deepened and Audric’s robe seemed to be getting looser and looser of its own accord. Ulfric’s hand slipped onto his shoulder, pushing the robe almost completely off, and he didn’t mind. He wrapped his arms around Ulfric’s neck and sucked on his tongue, playfully bit his lip. 

“Wait,” he glared accusingly. “Wait, you’ve wanted this, haven’t you. That night in the tent, before I… You wanted to kiss me even then. Why didn’t you?”

“If we’re being honest with one another, I wanted to do a lot more than kiss you,” he admitted. He’d spent a long time trying not to want Audric Bellamy. And when that had failed, he spent what felt like even longer trying not to act on it. He had a city to run and peace to keep and war on his doorstep; he didn’t have time for much else. 

“Well, you could have.” Audric grumbled.

“Consider my restraint a show of good faith.”

Audric barked out a single, cold laugh and then choked on the pain. “Good faith?” he asked, breathless. “You were the one who was so sure I would die.”

Ulfric sighed. “You’re a risk.”

Audric pushed his fingers through Ulfric’s hair. “I’m a lot of fun, I’ve been told.”

Ulfric gazed at the man stretched in front of him: pale skin, dotted by freckles where the sunlight had touched him; patches of coarse hair, darker than the stuff on his head; scars and bruises and nicks that should have been easy to heal. He traced the lines of Audric’s muscles with his fingertips, pressed his palm over his stomach — flat, but soft. 

Audric watched with some awe, propped up on his elbows. Ulfric Stormcloak pawed at his skin, lips and teeth covering up one kind of wound with another. He squirmed with impatience. “Put my cock in your mouth, if you please.”

Ulfric sat back on his heels. He stared at Audric. “And what if I don’t please?” he asked softly, kneading Audric’s thighs, putting weight onto his hips. 

“Do you know how many dreams I’ve had like this? Come to think of it, this is probably a dream, too.”

“Is it?” Ulfric asked, smirking. He pulled his shirt over his head and tried not to visibly hurry with undoing his belt. Moving them to his bed, he covered Audric’s body with his own. He kissed fiercely, slowly. Audric tasted like wine and long, sleepless nights.

Audric cried out, hissed when Ulfric’s weight pressed too hard on a bruise. 

“Shh.” He held him, ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.” To make it up to him, he kissed the same bruise — a rancid yellow splotch just under his ribs. His kisses lingered along Audric’s navel, and he had to try very hard not to dig his fingers into skin. Audric’s breath became audible, heavy and quickening. Ulfric pressed his cheek to Audric’s skin and imagined his pulse. 

Audric squirmed beneath Ulfric’s bulk. It was better than all of his dreams and half-imagined fantasies combined: he didn’t need to allow himself anything. It was all right here, real and tangible. He passed his fingers over Ulfric’s cheeks, enjoyed the coarseness of his beard. “Please,” he murmured.

Ulfric laid himself parallel to Audric, using his big hands to press him forward. He kissed Audric’s thighs and even allowed himself a few gentle, playful bites. He savored every twist of Audric’s body, every desperate whimper.

It had been some time since Ulfric had enjoyed someone else in his bed; the urgency of war and politics had eclipsed the urgency of lust for so long that he’d almost stopped lusting entirely. He kissed and licked and sucked until he had Audric unravelled: a writhing, noisy mess all sprawled out on his back. “Relax,” he teased. “Let me take care of you.”

Audric shook his head. “No, let —” Exasperated, he wriggled away from Ulfric, getting back on his side. Gesturing at the space beside him, he heaved a sigh and regained his composure. “We could take care of each other, instead,” he suggested. His eyes settled arrantly on Ulfric’s cock, color filling his cheeks. 

Ulfric settled himself beside Audric and hummed with satisfaction as he sucked on his cock. It was a bit thick, but didn’t pose much of a challenge. His hips jerked forward when Audric’s tongue ran wet and hot over his skin, and his blood simmered when he felt a toothy grin on his thigh. He let one of his hands wander behind a hip and grab a handful of Audric’s ass; the response was a gratifying moan around him. But almost as soon as it had happened, Audric pulled off. 

“Don’t...I haven’t…”

“That’s fine.” Ulfric kissed his hip, almost in apology. “Let me fuck your mouth, and I might forgive you,” he joked.

Audric gasped, and his hot breath was an unbearable tease. “Vulgar words, from a king.”

“I was a soldier, once,” Ulfric reminded him before squeezing his cock in one hand, and using his other to scratch his nails against Audric’s skin. A younger man might have felt cheated, but Ulfric took great enjoyment in Audric’s inability to focus long enough to return the favor. He held him with a capable grip and forced him still while he sucked and kissed him until he was an absolute mess: skin slick with sweat, hair plastered to his neck and forehead, mouth open wide in silent ecstasy. Ulfric maneuvered him back into the pillows and stopped his protests of wanting to reciprocate. “I’ll get my turn,” he growled, “don’t worry about that.”

Audric hadn’t felt so genuinely admired in a long time. Brynjolf loved him, he knew, and Ralof enjoyed him, and all of his other affairs — fleeting or perpetual — adored him. He knew that. But Ulfric burned with with it, and every touch that idled burned him, too. And every time that Ulfric’s hands or mouth would pass another scar or bruise, he anticipated a curious question or a sympathetic comment, but every time, Ulfric found his wounds neither curious nor pathetic. 

But then, of course he wouldn’t. 

“Have you ever seen a king on his knees?” 

Heat ignited through Audric like lightning and he sat up. “No, but I’d like to.”

Chuckling, Ulfric moved to the edge of the bed. “What would you give for it, I wonder?”

“Probably every septim I’ve ever pilfered,” Audric offered. 

Ulfric grinned from the floor, grabbed Audric by the ankles and yanked him over. “Careful, Bellamy,” he warned, “I could use your money in these trying times.”

“You could use me too, probably.” 

Ulfric brought their exchange to an abrupt halt, wrapping his lips around the head of Audric’s cock. His patience wasn’t endless, but he had at least twenty years more than the young man in front of him. “Poor thing,” he consoled before taking Audric almost all the way. He pulled off and tolerated a string of saliva between them just long enough to make Audric suffer.

Audric nudged his cock against Ulfric’s lips and was allowed all of four thrusts before Ulfric pushed him onto his back, legs hanging over the bed. He revelled in the way Audric cried out for him, the choked gasps and the intelligible litany of begging and praise. It was refreshing to get him earnest and wanting as opposed to sardonic and self-satisfied. He kept Audric’s cock in his mouth, tonguing him, tasting bitterness. “You drink too much,” he accused with a smile.

“And you talk too much,” Audric snapped. 

“Do I.” Ulfric leveraged himself up onto the bed and loomed over Audric, leaning on one elbow to kiss him long and wet and sloppy.

Audric pulled away and smacked his lips, frowning. “Maybe you have a point about the drinking.”

Grinning, Ulfric kissed him again. The fingers of one hand moved idly through Audric’s hair against the sheets and the other traced a lazy line down his chest, across his ribs, over a hip, and wrapped around his cock. He was slick still, and Ulfric’s hand slid easily over him. He pumped Audric, barely squeezing, just enough to elicit soft, fervid whining. Ulfric’s own cock, hard and neglected, was beginning to ache. He lined it up in his hand beside Audric’s and slid them together, and Audric stared down in blissful incredulity. 

“Look at you,” Ulfric growled. 

Audric gawked, his silence punctuated by hushed grunts. He was pushing his hips up, into Ulfric’s grip, and the sound of wet skin on skin almost seemed deafening. 

“Look at you,” Ulfric reiterated, “all laid out for me. Maybe I’ll have to make a meal out of you.”

“I told you—!” Audric heaved, “I’m not—! I haven’t—!”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Ulfric rumbled; his hand moved more quickly. “Maybe the next day. Maybe whenever I want.” Audric’s hips stuttered, and Ulfric realized — somewhat belatedly — that Audric  _ liked _ the talking. “Maybe I’ll throw you in a bath, clean you up myself.”

“Disgusting,” Audric muttered, his cheeks going as red as his hair. 

Ignoring his sheepishness, Ulfric continued. “Maybe I’ll carry you into my bedroom, lay you out on this bed. Spread your legs and just look you over.” He paused to enjoy the strangled moan that inspired. “Then open you with my tongue.”

“ _ Ulfric _ !” Audric was screwing up their rhythm. 

Another sordid chapter of this fantasy was on his lips, but before he could pursue it, he felt something hot and thick dripping over his knuckles. Audric was clawing the sheets in both hands, throat exposed and teeth clenched. Uneven growls punctured the air as he rode out his orgasm.

Audric’s chest rose and fell dramatically as he caught his breath. He was shiny with sweat and come, red and splotchy all over, cock still thick as it slowly softened against his leg. Without jostling the bed too much, Ulfric went to the washbasin in the corner and wrung a cloth in the cool water. Audric shivered as he was wiped up, and blinked fondly, sleepily up at Ulfric. “Thank you.” He gestured at the cloth on his belly.

Ulfric cocked an eyebrow. “It isn’t going to matter, in a moment.” That seemed to rouse him. “I told you, I’ll have my turn.” When he was finished, he returned to the bed and straddled Audric’s chest, burying his fingers in tangled, damp hair. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, and Audric obeyed.

Ulfric’s cock was smooth and rigid, with just a little bit of bend. It stretched Audric’s lips pleasantly, and he hummed contentedly, still warm from his orgasm. He bobbed his head, sucking shallowly at the head, letting his lips and tongue do most of the work. He was still soft, and would be for a while, but he could feel his body trying to take interest. 

“Finally,” Ulfric huffed, head lolling back on his shoulders. “That big mouth put to good use.”

Glowering, Audric grazed the shaft in his mouth with just a hint of teeth, and Ulfric pulled out. 

He grabbed Audric’s jaw between his thumb and forefinger, exerting force. “Don’t.”

Audric kneaded Ulfric’s hips and nuzzled his thigh. “Sorry.” He kissed Ulfric’s thigh sweetly, then made a trail of kisses as far down as he could reach. “Can I have your cock again?”

Ulfric groaned and relented. “Just behave yourself.”

Audric smiled around him, happy to take whatever he was given.

Ulfric held him in place with a hand on either cheek, and thrust into his mouth. He pawed at Audric’s hair and rubbed his lips with a finger. When he could feel the tightness in his navel begin to unwind, he pulled his cock out of Audric’s mouth and stroked himself. That seemed to give Audric sufficient warning, because he laid back, closed his eyes, and smiled expectantly. His come splashed across one of Audric’s cheeks, his chin, dribbling down his neck. Ulfric bit his lip in gruff silence, even going so far as to cover his mouth. He only let out a quiet groan when Audric licked him clean.

Audric didn’t wait to be cleaned up, this time. Instead, he wiped his face on the corner of a sheet before collapsing into the downy mattress and sighing blissfully, as though he’d just gone to bed after an especially excellent meal. 

“You’ll sleep here, tonight,” Ulfric told him.

“Will I?” He had no intention of leaving, but he wanted to test his boundaries, just for fun.

“And you’ll be here when I wake up.”

Rolling over so that he was nestled beside Ulfric’s chest, he murmured, “I suppose I will be.”

 

*       *       *

 

It was strange to wake after sunup, but then, it was strange too, to wake up next to another. Ulfric shifted onto his side and blinked until Audric came clearly into view. He was curled into himself, the sheets twisted round his legs as if in a knot. His skin was bared, pinkish and delicate in the morning light. Ulfric kissed his shoulder and he whined in his sleep. 

Audric was thoroughly a thief, but he had a warrior’s body. To be so young and to have suffered so much...a pit hardened in Ulfric’s gut. He eyed the scars and bruises, touched gently, idly. 

It was still comfortably warm, and Ulfric realized that the fire was still going strong, crackling at a dull roar in the fireplace. A servant had been in to tend it, which of course meant that by breakfast the entirety of the palace would know he had bedded Audric. He sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable, deciding to bask in the warmth of their intimacy for as long as he still had left. 

Outside, the wind howled and the windowpanes rattled and he wondered how Audric managed to sleep through it all. Ulfric hugged him close, enjoying the way they fit together; Audric’s lithe figure engulfed by his own immensity. His fingers brushed over the shadow of a scar, peculiar in shape, but entirely familiar to Ulfric. His heart was made lead and his stomach churned, for he remembered, and he resented. All these years later, he had only hoped to avoid ever coming into contact with her again. But now, seeing and touching the evidence that she had tortured a man he called a friend, he wanted little else than to wring her neck with his bare hands. 

Resting his forehead against Audric’s bare shoulder, he tried very hard not to think about it.

Fingers combed through his hair and he hummed. “Did I wake you?” 

“No; the wind.” Audric was probably lying, which was fine. He yawned, wide and loud, endearing. “You aren’t used to staying in bed, are you?” he asked after a time of tolerating Ulfric’s restless tics.

“We both need a bath,” was the only answer given.

“And shall we bathe together?” Audric suggested slyly, grinning. 

Ulfric shrugged. “If it would please you.”

“You please me.”

Audric’s candor was discomfiting, and embarrassment took him the way it hadn’t since he was a lad. “Glad to be of service.” He stood, and scooped Audric out of the bed, pulling him into his robe. Together, they strolled down the hall to the baths, where steam greeted them, a warm and comfortable embrace. 

“Do you think they were staring?” Audric mused, shedding his robe and slipping into the hot water. 

“At us? Absolutely,” Ulfric chuckled. He fenced Audric in, hovering over him, then leaned in to kiss his neck. “Or perhaps they were just staring at you. You are very nice to look at.”

Audric huffed; he squirmed and whined but melted when Ulfric’s lips caught his. It was so quiet, he thought he could hear his own heartbeat. This wasn’t the playful nonchalance he was so accustomed to; honesty of this magnitude was foreign, and made him nervous. 

“I don’t think I can fuck or anything today,” he spat out, glancing away. “I...overestimated myself last night.”

“I overestimated you,” Ulfric said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, stop.” If he weren’t physically constrained by a bathtub, he would have pushed away. “Stop being so sincere, I can’t take it.”

Ulfric’s brow furrowed. “Are you being facetious?”

“I’m not actually that bothered,” he admitted, folding himself into Ulfric’s arms. He fit quite nicely. “It’s just...strange.” With that, he sank beneath the water until his nose hovered just above it, and Ulfric held him until he had to be pulled out of the tub.

  
  
  
  


 

 

The longer he stayed in the palace, the more he remembered how he loathed politics. Audric’s parents had meant for him to be a politician, and he was very glad he’d escaped that fate. He watched from the bed while Ulfric grumbled, scratching out draft after draft of the same letter.

“Do you write them all yourself?” he asked. 

“Often, though not always.” 

“And what are you writing, now?” Audric kept kicking his legs in the air, only to cringe with pain and try to stop once again. Then he’d get restless, and the cycle would begin anew. 

“A statement of intent.” Ulfric took a break from scratching away at the parchment. He worried he would slip, and jot down what he was saying aloud. “With Titus Mede’s unfortunate — if timely — assassination, Tullius will be busy. But not  _ that _ busy. I intend to keep him and his Legion out of Skyrim.”

“With threatening letters?”

Ulfric thought about it. “Words with me would be dangerous, you know. Though not as dangerous as with you, of course.”

Audric grimaced. “Flatterer,” he growled sarcastically. He rolled around in Ulfric’s bed for a bit, aimless and silent. A maid came in with a platter of food, but he didn’t touch it. His appetite was still suffering, but he didn’t want Ulfric to know. “I’m trying not to think about it,” he announced.

“Trying not to think about what?” Ulfric asked absently, having returned to penning his letter. 

“What I have to do.”

Ulfric stopped again. This time, he even put the pen down. “There’s no point. You’re not well enough, yet.”

Audric wanted to take comfort in an excuse, but even he couldn’t. “Time won’t wait for me to heal.”

After a moment, Ulfric chuckled uncomfortably and said, “Now I’m trying not to think about it.”

Getting up hurt, though much less than it used to. Audric slowly made his way across the room, shutting the door and gently pushing the bolt into place; he wondered if Ulfric was paying attention. He drifted back, lingering by Ulfric’s chair. He caressed the man’s neck and ran fingers through his hair. “Stop playing politics for a moment. Take a break.”

Ulfric sighed.

“Let me have you,” he murmured against Ulfric’s ear. “Put your cock in my mouth; put your fingers in my —”

“I have things to do,” he insisted, though his voice was thick.

“Am I one of them?” Audric asked. It was underhanded, but he was honestly thinking about it. “It might be the last time we can.”

“Please, Audric.”

“Later, at least?” 

Ulfric groaned. “As soon as I’m done with this, I promise.”

Audric grinned and returned to the bed, undressing himself. He let one of his own hands roam across his body: along the flat plane of stomach, down the expanse of his thigh, sighing loudly. “If you fuck me well enough, maybe that’ll keep me bedridden for a while, so I can stay a little longer.”

Ulfric whipped around in his chair. “That’s not funny.”

Shame and remorse crept over Audric like an illness, and he mumbled defensively, trailing off into nothing. His cheeks burned and he felt like a dog who’d just been struck on the nose. He rolled over and grabbed a book off of Ulfric’s bedside table, letting it fall open where he’d dog-eared it. He tried to read — or at least pretend to — but he couldn’t concentrate. 

“You know I won’t stay here forever.”

“I wouldn’t expect it of you.”

Audric chuckled. “Right. Suppose I’m not of much use to you now, Dragonborn or not.” He waited for a response, but for a while the only sound was Ulfric’s pen scratching away.

“I don’t measure my friends by their usefulness; is that a worry you learned from your fellows?”

Audric rolled his eyes. “Thieves are family, Ulfric; but family has been known to stab one another in the back, from time to time.”

“Always looking out for number one?”

“You can’t save anyone if you can’t save yourself.” The truth was that Audric had never set out to save anyone but himself. He couldn’t pick out an exact time when that had changed. “You’ll miss me, won’t you?”  _ While I’m gone? If I die? _

Idly, Ulfric’s fingers traced over a patch of clothing where underneath, Audric had bruised him with his mouth. “You’ve certainly left your mark on me,” he said.

Exasperated, Audric snorted. “Always with the cryptic answers!”

Ulfric penned the last punctuation and signed his name, leaving the ink to dry. He stood and pushed in his chair. He pulled off his shirt and crawled onto his bed, jostling Audric. He pulled Audric underneath him, exploring with his hands, indulging himself. Audric’s skin was soft, still, and his wounds were mostly healed now. “I will absolutely miss you,” he murmured. He kissed Audric on the mouth, nipping at his lip. “I’ll miss your kisses,” he said, “and your impudent mouth.” 

Audric chuckled and played at getting away. Ulfric held him down.

“I’ll miss you beneath me,” he said in Audric’s ear. “I’ll miss my name in your voice.” Ulfric was saying goodbye. He didn’t know what would happen. Maybe Audric would defeat the World Eater. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t come back either way. 

Audric snaked his arms around Ulfric’s neck and pulled him in for a long, indulgent kiss. He nuzzled Ulfric’s jaw, the stubble itching him. Wrapping his legs around Ulfric’s waist, he pulled him in and pressed them together, reveling in their warmth. Then he unbuckled and fell limp beneath him.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After three years, this is the end. I hope everyone who's been reading has enjoyed the ride. A bientot!


End file.
